Phantoms in the Mist
by ttgranger
Summary: Sometimes it felt like what was left of the entire human race had gathered in Virginia. Rick and his family have found the ASZ but others haven't been as lucky, and the clouds of war are looming over the horizon. (Richonne, Zombie-AU, Rated M).
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hi guys, I've decided to dip my toe in the water. With what's happening with the show I wanted to remind myself why I love these two characters (R & M) so much. So here I am trying to figure it out. This is a multi-chapter Richonne fic that, prologue aside, will be told strictly from Rick and Michonne's povs. Chapter 1, Rick's pov, is right below the prologue. The only warning I have apart from it being rated M for reasons, is that this will be somewhat of a slow burn, at least in terms of where we start off. I really hope you enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** the plot and OCs of this story belong to me but TWD does not.

* * *

 **PHANTOMS IN THE MIST**

.

 **PROLOGUE**

The people pressed from all sides begging them for passage. Theo was afraid. It was different seeing them up close like this. He couldn't see the desperation in their eyes from the watchtower, or how gaunt they truly were.

"Please step away from the vehicle!" Andrew kept repeating. "You'll receive food but for safety's sake, you have to stop the noise. Please step away from the vehicle!"

No one was listening.

They weren't even taking the food. Theo had been holding the same bag of rations for what seemed an eternity. Instead of taking it the people kept pressing in, pleading and trying to grab his clothes.

"I'm a doctor! I'm a doctor!" someone kept shouting.

He couldn't distinguish their voices anymore.

"Pe-please take the food." Theo tried to swallow the stutters in his voice and the fear in his belly.

They wouldn't stop shouting. From his vantage, (standing at the back of the pickup truck) it looked like they were trying to swaddle the vehicle in some mass human hug – like a game, or some random achievement to be listed in the Guinness Book of Records. Except games implied cheerfulness, and people didn't often have looks of such abject terror when achieving their life's aim.

It was supposed to be simple. Drive. Stop. Distribute supplies, get a thank-you or two and make it home for supper – a hero. They would have to start respecting him. No more timorous Theo; sissy Theo, cowering quaking pussy Theo.

They would all see.

He'd be the guy with all the stories to tell. Susanne would want to give him another chance (waltz up like she hadn't ever left, hadn't ripped his heart out – spat on it and shoved it back in his chest). He'd refuse, of course. He'd say he wasn't looking for a relationship right now. He'd say he wanted time alone then shack off with some other chick, two days later maybe – give her a taste of her own fucking medicine. And even then—and even then, he'd still be too damn nice to make it a full-on pillory.

It was supposed to be simple.

With each bellow of Andrew's voice calling for order, Theo flinched. There wasn't meant to be noise, not like this. Between that and the cries of the people he wanted nothing more than to run. Throw the supplies away, flee, and let them deal with it. Better that than the dead that would come crawling if they stayed. He wasn't even a guard, not really. He'd only taken a few shifts here and there trying to help out, trying to prove himself and feel like he fucking meant something again.

He looked to his left, desperate to catch Andrew's eyes, but in the other truck the burly Alexandrian was hard at work.

Theo threw bags into the crowd (stomach churning, hands shaking) hoping to focus their attention.

 _Don't leave me out here!_

 _I have children_

 _I'll clean – I can clean_

 _You can't leave us out here!_

Theo was sure it would be – not the dead; not thoughts of Susanne with her jeering smiles, but disembodied voices that visited his sleep that night.

He forced a bag into the arms stretching towards him. Someone grabbed his foot.

"You piece of shit!"

Theo hit the ground. Mud splattered on his face. Pain stretched around him like a blanket.

"Step away from the vehicle!" Spencer's voice.

A scream.

"Fuck!"

Gun shaped bruise forming on his hip.

"Help me," he heard, repeated over and over in a voice shrill with fear.

Panic snaked through him, roots sinking deep. Hands grabbed at him.

The groans of the dead.

 _I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die._

Theo pulled the trigger.

XxXPITMXxX

 **Chapter 1:** The General Is Up

The rain hammered on the roof of the watchtower. _There goes Daryl's search_. No amount of tracking skills would be able to unearth what the rain was so deftly burying beneath them. He hoped they found something to at least piece together a sense of the Reapers' movements. Anything would be of use at this point, the trade routes had been crippled for far too long.

Rick missed the days when he could choose a course of action and follow it through by day's end. Now there was the Union to consider. And no matter how much he wanted, he couldn't put a bullet through Gregory's brain without some bullshit repercussions falling on his doorsteps. It was his own doing after all. Attempting to rebuild some form of civility – trying to appease the memory of a ghost who didn't even have the courtesy to grace him with her presence. Not so much as a shadow (hovering in a far corner of his vision) to make him pause and wonder. It was for his own good, he supposed. It wouldn't do to lose his sanity again; she was far too stubborn to appear at his bidding either way. Her apparition, he imagined, would probably be the precursor to his death.

 _Well what did you expect, Grimes?_ She'd say with that teasing smile that started off slow (just a small curve in the corners of her lips before it spilled into laughter) she'd duck her head to try and hide it. _Not everyone wears crazy and makes it look good_ , she would lean against the window and give him a pointed look, _you definitely can't._

 _You were my voice of reason_ , he replied. She still was.

 _And playing Casper would serve that image how, exactly?_

Rick almost laughed. For someone who struggled to grasp the concept of imaginary friends as a child, the amount of times he orchestrated these conversations was impressive, though he doubted Mrs Bratcher (the funny old teacher who despaired at his lack of imagination) would have viewed it as a victory. He was the kid who would draw his backyard, the cows they kept, his father's police car or the vase his mother loved when others drew pink ponies sliding on rainbows, and winged creatures hovering in the skies of fantastical worlds. Mrs. Bratcher would give him a kind smile (a pitying smile too, now that he looked back) and a gentle pat on the head for, 'always being a pleasure and taking part.'

 _You're still out there_ , he said.

Her smile looked so vivid when he closed his eyes (he liked to think he remembered every detail of her face and the lilts of her voice).

 _And you're still alive, Rick,_ she whispered, voice fading to the tap tap tap of the rain on the roof.

Footsteps stomped up the stairs and he turned to see Carl removing the hood of his jacket, droplets of water falling to the floor with each movement.

"You done your homework?" he asked.

"Yeah," Carl grumbled. "I still don't see the point of this whole school thing though."

Rick almost sighed, Carl's disdain for school was borderline fanatical.

"We want to keep the world running," he said. "Keep it moving forwards despite the setbacks. We don't need to regress to the dark ages on top of everything else."

"Then they should teach things that matter." Carl threw his jacket on a chair. "Reading _Of Mice and Men,_ and making stupid sculptures each week won't do shit for anyone."

Rick narrowed his eyes.

"Do anything for anyone," Carl amended. But not before rolling his eyes heavenward as if begging some higher power to grant him strength.

A familiar feeling crawled and settled in his chest. Snug. It almost sounded like a conversation they would have had in the old world. He imagined the fifteen year old as he could have been – as he should have been. Same messy hair and smart-ass attitude but there would be lightness to his demeanor; crankiness solely routed in teenage angst and the overconfidence of youth. Maybe he would have liked those god-awful bands he heard kids listening to outside the arcade near the mall (some skinny guy with dark makeup screaming into a microphone).

He once feared he was losing him to the darkness that had descended five years ago. When they first arrived in Alexandria those feelings had been rampant (sometimes when the nights were too long he still found them waiting at the precipice). They had lost Judith, and this time there would be no Tyreese and Carol appearing from a forlorn cabin to bring her back to them. Judith was dead and Rick was afraid he'd have to watch Carl lose his humanity as well – those weeks on the road to Washington were the longest he had gone without speaking to him. Rick couldn't help but remember another time when Judith had been lost, and Carl had been trying to keep his balance on a railway track, laughing and battling for a chocolate bar because...but she was gone as well.

"They won't find anything with all this rain." Carl joined him at the window.

"Probably not," he agreed. "But it's worth a try."

Rick retrieved the spare rifle he brought with him and gave it to Carl.

"I know the school format isn't perfect but we'll figure it out. Did you eat something?"

"Carol made some pasta," Carl said. "And garlic bread," he added with a smile. "Did you want me to bring you some?"

Rick raised an eyebrow. "There even any left?"

"Sure," Carl said, a too innocent smile on his face. "I left the salad. I know old people need their vitamins."

Rick laughed. "I'm not quite at that stage yet."

He turned to the empty road beneath them. The community had a three mile walker-free zone, but the dead weren't the reason for keeping watch. It was almost two years since the living had attacked them, but Rick couldn't help the unease that had settled over him these past few months. One of these days things were going to boil over; Alexandria had to be ready.

"Some guys at school were talking about that Reaper we killed." Carl checked the cartridge in his rifle. "Said we should just hunt them down and get rid of them."

"Yeah?" he tried to sound nonchalant. "What do you think?"

"Is that what you're planning?"

Rick rubbed the skin where his wedding band used to be. Someone had once called him _The General_ ; some Alexandrian – back when he hadn't considered himself to be part of this place. It was meant to be a compliment but the term sounded far too much like 'The Governor' for his liking. He thought it was a rather cowardly way of saying _monster_ , and so he put his gun in the mouth of the poor idiot who had said it – and asked him to apologize whilst the weapon was lodged in his mouth. It wasn't his finest hour, but it was the last he heard of that title.

He didn't much care what others thought of his actions. If it meant his son had a chance of a decent future he would happily bathe in blood, but sometimes he worried he was doing it all wrong. Sometimes he worried Carl might emulate that violence inside of him.

"The people on the other side of these gates aren't the bad guys," he said. "Understand?" He turned from the window. "If it was us in their place, I'd be doing the same thing."

Carl nodded, his messy mop of hair falling further about his face.

"The Union wants a final talk before voting," he said in a careful neutral tone, "but in the end we probably will end up killing them. When that time comes, I'll most likely be the one who leads it."

Carl's face was an impassive mask as he locked the magazine in his rifle; going through the exact motions Rick had done when he started his shift.

"Shouldn't be difficult to do. They barely have anything."

Rick bristled. "That what the guys at school say too?"

Carl looked at him. "They're right though." He rubbed his nose.

"These people who barely have anything, blocked the trade routes for over four month." Rick gazed at him from under furrowed brows. "They're still not fully functioning."

"That's `cause the Hilltop keeps backtracking on everything." He shook his head. "If we ignored them this would have been over by now."

"You really believe that?"

Carl trained his rifle towards the trees left of the road. The bullet ripped through the walker perfectly – skull cracking like a fork through an eggshell.

"I think there should be another way, but I get it," he said, "it's us against them. The fight should still be short though."

"Gregory claimed it should be quick as well."

Carl looked offended.

"Remember when we were on the road?" he asked.

"Yeah," Carl eyed him suspiciously. The road was a topic they always avoided.

"We didn't have anything either," he said. "But there was never a doubt in my mind that we'd beat anyone who stood in our way. Reason was, we knew what hell looked like and would do everything to escape it. The people who don't see that threat in the Reapers are the privileged who've had it easy – people like Gregory and half of this Union. One of these days it'll get them killed. I don't want you to ever make that mistake, Carl. On the battlefield each Reaper deserves respect, anything less will cost you dearly."

"I know," Carl glared at the window. "The guys at school are idiots."

Innocent was the word he would use. He sometimes wished he could undo everything Carl had seen, but maybe that would only serve to shorten his life.

"Whatever battles that take place, I want you to stay here."

Carl stepped back. "What, why? I can help."

"They'll be adults assigned to this job, I want it to stay that way," he said.

"I helped train some of those _adults_ , and I fight better than most of them."

Rick didn't think it was possible for so much sarcasm to be packed into a single word.

"This isn't a discussion, Carl. I'm not asking, I'm telling you. They'll be no children involved in this."

"That's such bull." Carl moved to the table and dropped his rifle. "I'm not like the rest of the idiot kids in this place, I can handle myself."

"Who exactly you talkin' to?" Rick placed a hand on his hip as he stared his son down.

He wished the anger in Carl's eyes wasn't so familiar. There had been a rage there since Judith died and sometimes it took all his strength to still look him in the eyes. His life was a long patchwork of regrets and screwups and he wouldn't mind if so many people hadn't been caught in the crossfire. He wouldn't mind it at all if his son had at least been spared the damages of his failures. Eight year old Carl had written about him at school, talking about how his dad was a hero and he wanted to be just like him when he grew up. He wondered what he thought of him now. He wondered what his own parents would have thought if they could see him.

Carl made it a hobby to turn most discussions into battles on good days; today had been a bad one. After months of arguments he had finally stopped antagonizing his teachers, but he still barely got on with the other kids in the community. Rick steeled himself.

He was taken aback when Carl's eyes drifted to the floor, focusing on the dirty laces of his shoes.

"You said you trusted me."

"This isn't about trust, Carl, you're a child." He tried to keep the frustration from his voice. It seemed like whenever they moved two steps forwards they took three steps back.

"You can help from here," he said, hoping for some middle ground. "The community will need watching, Glenn and Carol will use your help."

"Do you even—" Carl stopped. His mouth opened then closed before he shook his head, frowning.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

Rick could see him slowly retreating into himself. This is how it was nowadays. Everything had turned out wrong but Carl refused to talk and Rick didn't know how to fix it. He wondered if this was how he had made Lori feel; she always complained that he never spoke enough.

Carl went to the chair and took his jacket.

"Carl," he approached the teen, "talk to me."

"It's nothing dad, geez." He pulled his jacket on. "You don't want me there, I get it. Can I go home now?"

The scowl on his face did nothing but emphasize his youth. "Yeah, yeah you can go home," he agreed. "But first I need you to look at me."

Carl met his gaze and Rick almost flinched at the accusation there.

He swallowed. "It's my job to keep you safe," he said. "No matter how well you can handle yourself it'll always be my job."

He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "I trust you, I do – but more than that I want you somewhere safe. Out there you have to fight no matter how old or able you are, but here you can still be a child, Carl. There's nothing wrong with embracing that. I want you to embrace it."

Carl shoved his hands in his pockets and ground his heel on invisible pebbles.

"Can I go now?"

He nodded. "Don't stay up too late."

The words barely left his mouth before the teen threw the hood of his jacket on and flew down the stairs.

Rick sighed as the door slammed a few seconds later. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stared at the empty street beneath him and the world that he had built.

XxXPITMXxX

It was almost midnight when the purr of Daryl's bike reached him. His shift ended over two hours ago but Rick stayed on watch, patrolling the walls of the community. He abandoned the watchtower when his replacement arrived; Steve was prone to too much chatter and Rick had far too little patience as it was.

He closed the gates and jogged after the jeep that had followed after Daryl.

"How was it?"

"Rain fucked everything." Daryl got off the bike and adjusted the straps of his crossbow.

"Wasn't all useless," Aaron closed the jeep and joined them. "We tracked them down as far as Charlottesville before the trail went cold."

"Somethin's definitely going on," Daryl said. "You was right about that."

It was the response he had expected but he was still disappointed. They had used their last stores of petrol for this. They couldn't afford to take more from their farming machines. Whatever they did from now on they would have to stick to horses, and as valuable as the creatures were they would never compare to the convenience of modern transport. It seemed that times were finally catching up with them; the Kingdom had fully transitioned to horses months ago and the Hilltop long before that.

"How big do you think it'll be?" he asked.

"Hard to tell. We still ain't got a clue where their base is, Charlottesville could be just another dead end."

"We don't know if the people we followed are actually part of that crew either," Aaron added. "They could have easily been copycats."

"True," he nodded, "but copycats are inspired by something. Even if they're a completely different crew they'll eventually lead us to the lake. It's where they get inspired."

Aaron smiled. "Times like this I believe you actually were a cop."

Daryl snorted. Rick cocked an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"So, what's the game here?" Aaron looked at him curiously. "Do we inform the Union?"

"No." He'd been thinking of this all day and had finally made his choice. "They've had their chance, from now on we do things our way. We'll protect the Union as best as we can but Alexandria's our first priority. If they fall, I won't allow us to be dragged down beside them."

"You want to cut them off?" Aaron asked, his expression turning grim.

"Not quite," Rick gave a thin smile. "If they want to join us they can, but they'll have to accept a different kind of playboard. I'm done with the pussyfooting."

"Fuckin' amen to that." Daryl pulled a crumpled pack of a cigarettes from his pocket.

Rick studied Aaron. The man was the first of the original Alexandrians to come to their side. As far as Rick was concerned he was family, but he was also one of the more pacifist of their rag-tag band.

"You have something in mind?" he asked.

"I wish I did," Aaron shook his head, "but no. If there's an alternative, I just can't see it right now. I'd rather we worked with the Union but I think you're right." Aaron looked between the two of them and released a sigh. "So how do we do this? Is it war?"

Rick squeezed his shoulder. "We'll take it slow," he said. "We don't need to do anything except wait, keep tracking and be ready."

"They're the ones on the attack," Aaron noted.

"Exactly," he looked at the houses in front them. "For their attack to ever be complete they'll eventually have to show themselves. But they can't do that without leaving their asses completely exposed."

"That's when we strike," Daryl said, blowing a trail of smoke behind him.

He gave a single nod. "If we do it right, it'll be the only time we'll ever have to."

"I'm guessing meeting tomorrow?" Aaron gave a dry laugh. "You know that most people aren't gonna like leaving the Union out of this, right?"

"They'll get a chance to air their views, Gabriel and Deanna can sort that out."

He just hoped they didn't flood his home every two seconds seeking reassurances. It was enough to make him miss the days when they thought him unhinged. It was true they had come a long way, but some people were under the illusion that they had made it when reality was so much more fragile. They were living in a war zone and nothing but the will to survive was just. Looking around he couldn't entirely blame them. If he ignored the walls and the watchtowers he could imagine this being another King County; one where the houses were a hell of a lot more expensive, and every backyard had vegetable patches or fruits being grown, and people travelled in horse drawn carriages – but a normal town all the same. Some residents even greeted him as _Sheriff Grimes_. The first time he heard it the world had gone askew. His entire life had sometimes felt like a prelude to that moment when his name was announced, and that sheriff badge was pinned to his breast pocket, (the photograph hung in their abandoned living room, his smile frozen between those of his parents – Lori had been happy that day).

He felt like an imposter.

"It ain't Deanna and Gabe they'll wanna hear from." Daryl gave him a pointed look.

Rick cocked his head in acknowledgement. "I'll deal with it when the time comes. I want a family meeting tomorrow, Maggie isn't getting any better."

Aaron stopped walking. "How bad?"

"We'll have to get Denise back."

"I'll head out first thing," Daryl said.

"No. You and Aaron need to be here, y'all have been doing the actual tracking so you can't miss those meetings. Sasha and Heath will go to the Kingdom tomorrow."

Aaron nodded. "I'll go by the infirmary, see how they're holding up."

"See you tomorrow man," Daryl said.

Aaron gave them a mock salute as he walked away.

"Where did you get the cigs?" he asked.

"They were actually in the Jeep," Daryl looked smug. "I might get Carol to trade something. How's Carl doin'?"

He sighed. "Much of the same."

"It'll get better," Daryl offered. "Y'all are just too hard on each other."

"You're probably right," he agreed. "I just wish I could do something to help him."

"Not much you can do about grief," Daryl looked at him with sympathy. "Just keep being there for him and let it run its course."

Rick made a sound of acknowledgement.

Jessie Anderson was on her porch lifting a basket of what looked to be the scraps of metal she used for her sculptures. Their eyes locked as she stood and Jessie froze, for a moment looking like the embodiment of a deer caught in the headlights. Rick gave a polite nod and returned his gaze forward. From the corner of his eyes he saw her wave awkwardly at Daryl before hurrying into her house.

A year ago he probably would have followed her inside or invited her to his home. Now he simply wanted to erase all memories of ever being there.

"You wanna ask?"

"I can ask about Carl, but that right there," Daryl tilted his head towards Jessie's house. "It ain't none of my business."

"I didn't ask if you were going to, I asked if you wanted to."

Daryl shrugged in that lazy way he had. "I ain't judging."

"But I was still a piece of shit, right?"

"She weren't for you." Daryl glanced at him. "Just took you awhile to see it."

He laughed. It sounded bitter and mirthless to his own ears. "Oh I saw it," he said. "I just didn't give a shit. What kind of man does that make me you reckon?"

Daryl gave him a worried look. This man was a brother to him in all but blood, but there were some things even he would struggle to understand. Or perhaps the problem was that he would understand it all so perfectly, and that would make the reality of it too final to bear. Maggie had suggested he book some therapy sessions with Denise. She reminded him so much of Hershel in those moments and he wished, not for the first time, that things had worked out differently. He wished a lot of things had turned out differently.

"There ain't none of us fully right at this point." Daryl gave him a brief pat on the shoulder, it may as well have been a hug. "But you're a good man." He paused. "Maybe when Denise gets back it won't be a bad idea to speak with her."

Rick looked down at his left hand. His thumb drawing small circles on the skin where his wedding band used to be.

"Nah," he said. "There are more important things to deal with right now."

XxXPITMXxX

Rick entered the dark house and made his way upstairs. It was always so disproportionately quiet at night when compared to the bustle that took place there in the daytime. It was the house he and his people had piled into four years ago when they first arrived in Alexandria. It was far too big for he and Carl alone, but at the time everyone had insisted that he keep it. To fully utilise the space, he had turned the majority of it into an office of sorts, a focal point for the administrative running of the community. Various meetings took place in its rooms and people were constantly milling about. Apart from the kitchen, the only area that belonged to them alone was upstairs.

Rick glanced in Carl's room before making his was way to his own. It was a habit Carl would no doubt scoff at if he were ever told, but it was his own type of therapy. Seeing his son alive and safe was the anchor that stopped him from completely falling into the abyss – that place where phantom voices cursed him in the dark.

And then there was her.

She was alive, somewhere. He felt it in his bones and every echo of his breath but she may have as well have been dead, in this world where a week could span a lifetime and everything else was circumstantial. She let him be. And that made her the worst type of phantom because it was still her touch he would imagine and her lips he would feel and her moans he would hear when Jessie lay beneath him.

"I came to Washington like you wanted, Michonne," he whispered.

Rick closed his eyes but no one answered.

* * *

 **A/N:** next chapter we'll see where Michonne's at. Thanks for reading and do let me know your thoughts :)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Guys, thank you so much for the favs, follows and reviews. I know there can be trolls when it comes to Michonne, so the fact that you gave this a chance without me showing you what I was doing with her from the get-go is really appreciated. And to the two guests, you have no idea how big a smile you put on face. Thank you once again. I really hope you all enjoy this chapter.

 **Disclaimer:** Thomas Jefferson quotes belong to all

* * *

 **Chapter 2:** The Dying of the Light

There was a hint of New York in his voice. The fuzzy memory of crowded subways; hybrid scents of Chinese takeaways, pizzas and urine and nameless faceless people passing her on the street – a yearning for Georgia she hadn't expected.

A multitude of people would die to the cadences of that voice.

"I'm not going to keep you long." The man she now presumed to be Marcus looked around the cemetery. "I know the personal risk you've all taken to be here. We've all heard about the Wolves."

Michonne tensed. Blood pounding. Skin stretched tight over knuckles. If any of them were left, it would be now they would show themselves.

Someone coughed.

Time seemed to pause then stretch before her, mocking.

"The fact you've turned up at all is a testament to the desperation we all feel. I look around you all and I see division."

Michonne released a breath, hardly daring to believe it. _Was this it?_ She wished she could walk around and see each face more closely, but war had been raged on far less. If there was anyone with a 'W' carved on their forehead, hidden amongst the crowd, she would not know unless they showed themselves. Even here on neutral territory, the turf lines were clearly marked amongst the overgrown weeds, broken branches and moss covered angels gazing down on them in prayer. Her eyes trailed between the Hawks, the League and the Resistance standing twelve paces behind their leader. If a battle was to start, it would come from one of them.

"Lines drawn between one group and the next, and each man thinking how best to move so he can gut the person standing next to him, before they have a chance to slice his throat. We look at the person standing next to us and we see a threat, an enemy. We see death staring us in the face, but I'm here to tell you different."

It wasn't often she scouted the clans. Yekne and Julian were much better at melting in and out of places without drawing attention. But when word had gone out about an open meeting for all clans, organised by the Resistance, and that the leader himself would be there, she had no choice.

The Resistance; it was a name they had grown accustomed to over the past three years. Some Drifter taking it on himself to band everyone together – never successfully; but for over a year now the name had been given to a single group. One so organised and efficient that for four months no trade wagons had been pulled along the Walled Roads; and in the midst of it all the name Marcus being uttered with increasing frequency and reverence. It would have been foolish not to come. Her people were hidden, but they weren't immune to the things that happened here between the clans, and it was only a matter of time before their luck ran out and they were found.

"When you look at the person standing next to you it's not an enemy you're seeing," Marcus said. "It's a mirror. Look at us! Look at all the people gathered here. We're all dirty, we're all hungry and we all stink as bad as each other."

Michonne had expected a large turnout, but nothing like this. She hadn't seen so many people gathered in the same place since the last time she was at the Second Wall. Memories of how that day ended did nothing to curb the dread seeping to her stomach. There was a chill that morning – as there had been for the past few days – when they left camp, and the cloak it caused her to don was now causing sweat to trickle down her back, and making the t-shirt she had underneath cling to her uncomfortably. Reminding her, with each passing second, she didn't have her sword.

Swords were only carried by some runners from the walled cities, and even then – none looked like hers, and being inconspicuous was an all too important rule. Michonne gripped the carving knife hanging from her hip. It didn't have the reach or flexibility of her sword, but it would kill well enough.

"The last clean, well fed man I saw wasn't a Drifter. The last clean well fed man I saw was one of those cunts behind the wall."

The atmosphere in the graveyard began to shift. People's attention being slowly drawn from the weapons in their hands to focus on the man speaking in front of them.

Beside her, Yekne shifted closer to the wall. She could practically hear his African accent whispering at her to get ready. She felt like an athlete preparing for a race, except the entire stadium would be taking part, and at any moment the referee would be announcing; 'on your marks, get set, kill!'

"The truth is we're all dead whether we stab each other or not. If it's not the bastard standing next to us it'll be one of those dead things out there that'll do it." Marcus pointed at the gates where walkers were beginning to gather, drawn by the noise. "And if it's not one of them dead things then it'll be thirst or starvation or sickness that'll takes us down. The person standing next to you is dead. You're dead!"

On the other side of the cemetery, the red cloths of the League hung in loose ribbons from a tree (red sap on dark bark) Frank Walton stood beneath. His group would have been larger than the Resistance but some of them were missing. Michonne guessed that people had to stay back to keep watch over the prisoners. She pulled the hood of her cloak, trying to sink further in its depths, then stopped. There were far too many people, she reminded herself, they would not see her. Michonne forced herself to relax, to hunch her shoulders, fiddle with the seams of her cloak and look more like the frightened woman up-front she was supposed to be channeling.

"I'd understand if there was no food. I'd understand if there was no safe haven, and I'd understand if there was no more clean water – but there is! There are three communities out there and every fucker standing here knows where they are. What are we that we have to die here like animals? Are we not people just like them? Are we not Americans just like them? Did we not have families and dreams that were torn from us too? Do we not deserve to live with dignity?"

With each question, shouts echoed throughout the cemetery. His words sweeping everyone into a fever that, for a moment, made them forget the mistrust that had been boiling through them only minutes ago. People began to move towards the centre of the cemetery, turf lines temporarily forgotten.

Michonne craned her neck trying to see above the wave sweeping towards Marcus.

"We stand in Virginia but we are not all Virginians. Some of us have walked miles and risked death just to get here. We've walked from New York, Georgia, Indiana, Arkansas, Mississippi, Florida," he checked each name on his fingers. "Did we travel all this way just to die at the doorstep of salvation?"

"Fuck no!" someone shouted.

"We'll drag their asses to hell with the rest of us!" someone added.

And the Hawks cheered. It was impossible to miss the blackish blood and goo of human entails. They occupied most of the northern parts of the Circle and where others slathered gore on makeshift ponchos, the Hawks lathered it on their clothes and wore it like second skin. And whilst no Drifter could be described as clean – good water was hard to come by and any Drifter who found it wouldn't waste it on a shower – the Hawks definitely took the crown. Yekne often joked they should have called themselves the Lords of the Flies.

She always found something disquieting about their presence. It was as if the violence they lived each day had clawed through their skin until it could personify itself fully through their existence. Perhaps that was the source of her unease; that violence was a stain on all of them after all. Better the beast that paraded in its own skins then hid beneath more gentle cloaks. In the end, she couldn't help thinking, the Wolves would have agreed.

"On this very soil our forefather was raised who wrote; 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness–'; I ask what life have we out here? What liberty have we, when every waking hour is shadowed by fear of death and starvation?"

Michonne and Yekne had positioned themselves so that the end of the concrete wall that led to the gates covered their left, and the small woods that flanked the rest of the graveyard was kept to their right. If things turned sour their best bet would be to climb the wall, jump to the pavement below and flee as fast as they could before the carnage seeped out beyond the gates, and onto the road outside where the dead would begin to gather. If that failed, they would have to fight their way through the slaughter to get to the footpaths in the woods that would lead them to the fenced alleys – where there would no doubt be more desperate scuffles as people tried to crowd the narrow passages and climb the fences that led to the other streets.

Michonne hoped it wouldn't come to that.

The smaller groups who came in twos and threes kept close to the walls or huddled near the trees – they all had the same getaway plans running through their minds.

"Our forefather also said; 'I have sworn upon the altar of god eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man.' What tyranny and oppression can be greater than this fate we've been abandoned to? Join me and fight because our time to stand is near running out. We either fight or we lie down and accept death, but unlike the people lying here, there'll be no graves for us."

Some people cried silently. Others raised knives and bats and long poles of metal in the air as a salute to their fallen.

The coiled snake of the Resistance slithered in the sky, black against a gold-yellow background. _Don't tread on me,_ it warned. Michonne closed her eyes and felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach.

"Yes, they outnumber us. And yes some of us will die if we go to battle, but what difference does that make when we're already dead? They've already shot at us! They shot at us as if we were nothing but sewer rats because we dared to ask for food. Because we dared to ask for water and because we dared to think we deserved to be treated like men. So will you come and fight with me? Will you come and fight with me?"

The cemetery erupted in wild cheers and calls of 'Marcus! Marcus!' rang in the air.

Outside the gates the dead groaned and reached forth their hands.

XxXPITMXxX

The journey home was quiet. Even Yekne, who usually had no end of tales to tell, seemed withdrawn. Michonne kept replaying the events that had taken place over and over again – trying to make a plan, trying to unravel the different scenarios and all the ways that they could die.

Marcus had held true to his words, and everyone was given food to carry back to their territories. She had stood behind Yekne, trying to look as frightened and frail as possible, as a member of the Resistance packed food into his bag. The man's nails were caked in dirt and she wondered if anyone would get sick – or if it even mattered anymore. Unlike all those years ago there was no panic as people grappled to get their hands on whatever food was left – only silent resignation and hate.

She looked at the sunken faces of the women standing about and wondered if any of them had children. This part was worse than both the Hawks and League, the promise of danger and blood she could deal with – but pity, pity would kill you faster than both. It would make her give the food to one of the ragged groups that had huddled near the walls and then the Drifters would all be looking at her, wondering what this woman could possibly have that she comfortably gave her food away and then she and Yekne would be trapped inside the cemetery. And those women – the ones she gave the food to – would be the ones who stabbed them first, so Michonne swallowed her wishes and followed after Yekne.

They left as soon as the gate was cleared. Gathered their supplies from the hiding place at the edge of town and didn't stop until they were well outside the Circle. It was probably the most peaceful day those streets had seen since before the fall itself, but the prudence that comes from years of violent mistrust is hard to shake, and Michonne was anxious to get home.

As they entered the woods that had protected them these past four years, relief washed through her. Amid the hell the world had descended to, this place had been their miracle, and as they travelled farther into the woods, she couldn't help but wonder how much longer the miracle would last.

A familiar anxiety twisted harder in her stomach. A fresh, vindictive, burst. The image of a small boy with copper brown skin flickered in her mind. Michonne forced a slow breath through her mouth as her lungs tightened.

 _We wouldn't want you to forget now, would we?_

If it had a voice, that's what it would be whispering.

"The sweet smell of home," Yekne sighed, looking at the walkers that marked the start of their perimeter. "You know, long term, it really can't be healthy to be excited by a row of dead people."

"I'm glad we're one step closer to a shower," she joked as they tied the walkers they'd been using as camouflage to the rest of the barrier. She was grateful to have her attention veered to something other than the knots coiling in her stomach.

"Sometimes I'm shocked you survived on road so long." Yekne had that grin which seemed to be permanently etched across his face. "What would Resistance think if they heard you now, whining about no shower for ten days?"

"Eleven actually." They continued up the slope. Whoever was on watch could see them by now and had probably sent out word of their return.

"Spoken like a true wall hugger," Yekne shook his head. "If they come, I don't know you and I don't know why your standing next to me."

Michonne smiled. "Pff, if they come you don't speak English more like."

Yekne's grin widened. "What do you think is Marcus' policy on immigration?"

It took a moment for the question to register in Michonne's mind. Once it did, she let out a snort of laughter. Yekne's misplaced humour was something you could always count on.

"Do you plan on leaving for his country?" she asked, turning to look at him.

"A good immigrant always keeps up with policies," he said, with a perfectly straight face. "You never know when you have to bail and piss off somewhere else."

"That might me a problem," she said. "I heard planes were having trouble with their lift off. But at least there'll be no border control. When do you plan on leaving?"

"I was thinking in the winter," he looked thoughtful. "Somewhere hot, preferably with mango trees and twenty four-seven servings of rum."

"Hawaii's good," she said. "You might need a magic carpet though, and you know how prickly Aladdin can get."

"I'll steal it when he's not looking. You'll cover for me, right?"

"Only if you bring back pineapple."

"Deal."

She grew serious. "We'll need to have a meeting."

"Straight away?"

"As soon as possible, yes." She made a timetable the previous night. The sooner they had a plan, the more time they would have to full-proof it.

They continued in silence until they reached the tree house that served as one of their watch points. It was hidden behind leaves and branches and would be easily missed if you didn't know it was there.

"Glad to see you back Michonne." John, their community farmer, waved at them. The man was in his early fifties and had a ruddy complexion and pale blue eyes that twinkled with laughter.

"Glad to be back." she smiled. "Has everything been okay out here?"

"Yeah. We started pruning the trees a few days ago. Had to stop your little ones from running around the ladders again."

Michonne released a small laugh as the knots in her stomach gave way, and an almost overwhelming relief took its place.

"I sent Jamie off to let the other's know you're back," John continued, oblivious to what he'd just done for her.

"Farmers," Yekne said. "Not even two minutes in the conversation."

"I don't hear you moanin' when there's food in your mouth."

Yekne ignored him. "And, I don't even get a welcome."

"What you need, Yekne, is to stay away from my damn plants," John leaned down to get a better look at him. "I best not see you doin' anything 'cept picking up fallen twigs."

"You're obsessed." Yekne started heading towards the community.

John called after them. "I'm protecting my trees from an early death."

XxXPITMXxX

Despite the ache in her legs, Michonne wanted nothing more than to run when she saw the cabins and tents in the distance.

 _They're alive, nothing happened,_ was the mantra in her head as a camp from long ago loomed in the shadows of her mind. Baleful and forever present in the vestitures of her memory. Now, in the stitches of that fabric were wolves, howling and gnashing at the teeth, and in the midst of it all the constant thrum of a question: had they killed them all?

"You go on," Yekne said, all traces of humour gone. "I'll take care of this," he motioned to the backpack on her shoulders, "And I'll tell the others there's a meeting."

Michonne gave a smile of gratitude and hurried to the farmhouse that served as their headquarters. A pretty young woman, whose belly was starting to prod with pregnancy, greeted her at the door and pulled her into a tight hug. "Thank god you guys are fine, I don't think any of us slept last night."

"Turns out it was all legit." Michonne entered the house. "The council needs to gather as soon as possible."

Abby gave a short nod, though she looked worried. "I'll boil some water for you. You go on, they're in their usual room."

"Thanks for looking after them."

She leaned on the kitchen doorway, fatigue starting to settle in.

"We're family, you don't have to thank us for that."

"But still, I know they can be a handful."

Abby snorted. "And we all love them for it. They'll be so excited to see you. Every day it was, 'when's mama coming back?'" The woman pulled a jacket from the coat hanger. "I'll come get you when the water's ready," she said and left the house.

Michonne went past the living room and into the back corridor. She opened the bedroom slowly, she didn't want to wake them. No matter how many times she left, it never really got easier. She wasn't sure it ever would. Memories of André would resurface from the moment she stepped away to the second she returned and saw them with her own eyes. Being a mother again wasn't something she ever planned.

She pulled a chair next to the bed and looked at them. _They're alive, nothing happened_. She took a shaky breath and counted the amount of times she had left them, the distances she had travelled each of those times and the amount of days each of those journeys took until the tremors in her hands subsided. Thirteen times, seven thousand and eight hundred miles, and seventy days. _Seventy days and they were still alive,_ she reminded herself trying to recall the logicality that once was so easy but in these moments always evaded her.

They were completely oblivious to the troubles brewing around them – peaceful. Neither of them looked like her. She started seeing traces of Carl in the girl's face when she was nine months old, and the boy lying next to her looked so much like his father. She smiled as she thought of the pair who had saved her, what now seemed like a lifetime ago.

They were being surrounded on all sides by cauldrons ready to burst. Michonne gazed at her sleeping children and slowly began to plan.

XxXPITMXxX

By the time she finished showering she was more confident in her ideas. It had taken two buckets of water for her to be satisfied that the grime of the eleven days she'd spent outside was gone. The water Abby boiled had finished, and the last few scoops she poured on herself had leaned more towards cold than lukewarm. Like most of the community, the bathing sheds had no electricity. Water had to be boiled manually and mixed in a bucket before you could wash.

As Michonne headed towards their headquarters again, cleanly clothed and with her sword on her back, the community was quiet but well on its way to waking. People greeted her as they made their way to the pantry for fresh milk, or headed towards the bathing sheds to boil some water to bathe. She could hear the chopping of wood in the distance and the bleating of sheep and goats. Sounds she'd come to associate with the notion of home.

She hadn't eaten since half a day ago when she and Yekne had last camped, and her kids would be waking up soon, but she needed to give the meeting her full attention. If they saw her they would want to follow, and there might be tears as they conjured that she was leaving again and not just going to another room.

They held the meeting in what used to be a dining room, but the large twelve seat table was hardly used for that purpose anymore. After relieved hugs and greetings were exchanged, everyone took their seats. The six people gathered there weren't just council members, they were her family.

"The Resistance wants to attack the walled communities," Michonne concluded, after recounting what had happened. "The meeting we went to was a rally to get more people, and it seems like they were successful."

"I guess it's exactly what we expected," Siobhan said. She was in her early fifties and was the oldest member of the council. Her long auburn hair was streaked in grey.

"Will it last though?" Julian looked around the table, his glasses catching the light. He was two years younger than his sister Abby. Him and Yekne were their scouts, and knew the territories and clans better than anyone. "This is the clans we're talking about, they'll probably start killing each other for the rest of the food the Resistance have. And the League? No one would willingly join those people."

"But the League aren't the ones they're going to, Marcus is," Siobhan said. "And why not? He's given them food, he's already proven he can deliver."

"That food will run out though." Abby turned to Michonne. "You said it wasn't much."

"It won't last long," Michonne agreed. "But it's still more than those people had before."

"You really think they're gonna follow him," Clyde said, it was more a statement than a question. Michonne hadn't missed the tightening of his jaw and the fleeting glance Siobhan had thrown his way at the mention of the League. "This isn't the first time someone's tried this. It might not follow through."

"I wouldn't believe either," Yekne said. "But the man gives good speech."

Michonne nodded, remembering how even she had been moved by his words. Everything Marcus had said was true.

"Marcus lives up to every expectation," she said. "The question is, what do we do?"

"What can we do?" Ayda asked. "Expect watch and hope that whatever happens doesn't reach us."

Michonne tried not to think of the faces she'd seen in that graveyard.

She sighed, pulling threads from a previous life when she used to be a lawyer. "What do we know?" she asked, looking around the table.

"We know whatever the Resistance has in mind, they have to do it soon," Morgan said. It was his job to design traps and secure the community. When it came to pre-empting possible moves of invaders there was no one better. "If their food runs out then it's over."

Michonne nodded and turned to Julian. "How are the walled roads?"

"Still nothing last time we checked."

"Suppose they follow the resistance and don't start killing each other," Ayda said. "We know the numbers don't work."

"Maybe they don't attack all of them," Yekne said. "Maybe they just attack one."

Siobhan shook her head. "The other communities won't sit by and watch."

"And the Wallers have horses and more weapons, and they might even still have guns," Julian added. "It won't work."

"He knows something we don't." Morgan looked thoughtful. "The man ain't stupid. He messed with their trade routes so good they stopped using them for four months straight. And that was before he had all these people. A man like that doesn't start a war with no planning. There's something we don't know."

The room grew quiet as they contemplated his words.

"We know that whatever happens, it'll be a bloodbath," Ayda finally said. "Either the Wallers will kill them all or…"

Or nature and desperation will do the rest. She didn't have to say it, they all knew. Marcus hadn't been lying about time running out.

"Just to get this out the way, are we joining them?" Julian asked, eyes quickly darting to Clyde before settling back on Michonne.

"Along with the League?" Siobhan's voice was sarcastic. "I don't know about you, Julian, but I rather enjoy sleep. The kind where I don't have to keep an eye open in case of attempted homicide."

Julian shot her a glare. "Still had to be asked."

Siobhan gave a sweet smile, teasing Julian was something of a hobby for her, and looked around. "Everyone agrees that joining the Resistance is completely off the table?"

"Definitely can't be an option," Morgan said. "Not anymore at least."

"My proposal is that we don't do anything, we stay on the sidelines and see how things settle," he continued. "In the meantime we keep on securing the community, we double the number of watchpoints and only Yekne and Julian are allowed out."

"That's definitely our safest option right now," she agreed.

Morgan smiled. "I get the feeling there's a 'but' coming."

Their eyes locked and though her face remained a cool mask, Michonne felt her cheeks warming as she turned her gaze to the rest of the table.

"It won't be entirely safe," she said, "but there's another option."

She waited until all focus was on her. "We can join the Wallers."

Silence.

Even Morgan looked surprised.

"We can't keep relying on the fact that no one knows we're here. Look at what happened with the Wolves. We've been lucky. One day all it'll take is the wrong group to find this place, one that's larger and better armed and we'll lose everything. None of us have any reason to love them, but the alliance those communities have seem genuine and beneficial. Having a group we can call on for help will make a huge difference when someone worse than the Wolves finds us."

"That's a huge risk," Morgan's voice was grave. "Once we reveal ourselves to the Wallers, it'll only be a matter of time before the Drifters find us too. Is it worth the trouble it'll bring us?"

It was the biggest flaw Michonne had thought of too, but she couldn't think of a way around it so she shared the thought that stopped her from disregarding the plan altogether.

"The Drifters can find us either way, the Wolves did, it's just a matter of time and chance."

Morgan nodded, his expression grim.

"How do we get close enough to ask about joining?" Ayda bit her lip.

"I know it's a dangerous plan but if it works the benefits will greatly outweigh the risks, and there might be a time when we won't have a choice." Michonne looked around the table. "Does anyone have any objections to at least exploring this?"

"I think it's worth hearing what you've come up with at least," Clyde said.

Michonne smiled. Her plan wasn't perfect, but with the people sitting there she knew they'd be able to develop it into something useable.

XxXPITMXxX

Morgan stopped her on her way out.

"You can't be serious about joining them," he said.

Michonne waited as he grabbed his staff. "I've gone back and forth over it and this is the only way."

They made their way down the hallway.

"If we do this we lose the one thing that's kept us safe all these years."

Michonne shook her head. "We already lost it when the Wolves came. If even one of them is still out there…"

"They're not," Morgan's voice was firm. "We made sure we got them all."

"We _think_ we got them all," she corrected.

Her orders had been simple that day; _kill them all._ She'd been on edge ever since. Her gut was telling her there was something she had to do and this was it. She was sure of it.

"Julian and Yekne have scouted that area repeatedly, there's been no sign any of them survived."

"We were never going to stay hidden forever." she looked at him. "I'd rather we have full control over how the rest of Virginia finds out about us then wake up one day to a full-blown attack on our community."

"The Wallers will want something," he said. "Whatever they offer us won't be free and it might not even be a fair trade."

"If it was free I'd be afraid." She smiled. "People have always wanted things, the only difference is now the price is paid in blood."

"Blood that each of us has spilt." Morgan met her gaze. "We won't be welcomed with open arms."

"We hate them just as much as they hate us. But we both want to survive and that'll be enough reason to work together."

He nodded, but Michonne could tell the discussion wasn't over. He was merely storing it away to be drawn out at a later time. She had known him long enough, walking a hundred miles with someone would do that to you.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked.

Morgan looked at the hubbub of the community beyond the door. "I was thinking about that day I found you," he said. "The trail was starting to go cold. I wasn't sure if I was following actual signs anymore or just walking to keep myself going. And then there you were with a gun pointed at my forehead, with Siobhan and Yekne ready to pummel me if you missed. "

She laughed. "You didn't recognise me."

"I did," he insisted. "I just wasn't sure."

"Yeah right."

"It's true," he said then joined her in the laughter.

"We found a home here," he said after a pause.

 _Although their journey had started off with a different goal_. She heard the unspoken words, but she didn't want to think about that. She didn't want to think about the man he had been searching for when he found her instead.

"Hey Morgan, everyone's waiting," Oliver called from the doorway.

"Class to teach." Morgan shook his staff. "I'll see you later."

XxXPITMXxX

Michonne made her way to the kitchen. She could hear their voices from the hallway. They were playing on the floor with their backs to her as Ayda's grandmother, Maryam, washed the dishes and Jamie wiped and helped to put them away.

Maryam was the oldest member of their community and was like everyone's grandmother. The kids especially loved her. The woman had left India to spend the holidays with her son, Ayda's father, before things had fallen apart. Her four children, nine grandchildren and eleven great grandchildren were lost to her now. Ayda was the only living relative she had left. She spoke to the kids in a mix of her native Urdu and English, and the children, who've known her since they were babies, had learned to respond in kind. The old woman was the first to see her in the doorway.

"Judith?" Maryam called, in a heavily accented voice.

"Jee nani?" The girl answered without looking up from her game.

"Look who's at the door," Maryam said.

"Mommy!" The girl ran and jumped into her arms, her younger brother following excitedly behind her.

"My little munchkins!" Michonne knelt down and scooped them into a hug. "I've missed you so so much. Did you behave for nani?"

"Yeah," they both chorused.

"You were gone for so so so long mommy," Judith complained as she wrapped her arms around Michonne's neck, and Levi tried to climb her lap.

"I didn't mean to be." She kissed them both on the forehead. "But I'm proud of you, for being brave."

Levi tugged at her top and poked her cheek to grab her attention. "No go again mama."

Michonne blew cherries on his neck before kissing them once more. "I'm sorry I took so long baby."

"Kids, let ammi stand so she can have breakfast," Maryam said as she laid a plate on the table.

Michonne ended up sitting with both children in her lap as Judith took it on herself to feed her.

* * *

 **A/N:** of course Judith is alive ;) . Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Guys, I will start sounding like a broken record but thank you so much for the reviews, encouragements and follows. I read all your words and they're truly appreciated. Apologies for the wait, it took me a while to figure this chapter out. There is a lot that happens in this one and it's definitely on the long side. If you think it's too long let me know and I'll keep it in mind for the future. I want the reunion in chapter 5 at the very very latest and a long chapter 3 was the only way to go for that. A few things:

1.) For those who are into this type of referencing the quote that Gabriel uses is Psalms 46:2

2.) The flag the Resistance uses is the real life Gadsden flag and

3.) For the sake of this story let's pretend a fire bomb is something that is stronger than a Molotov cocktail but weaker than an actual bomb. I don't know much about weapons so saying 'fire bomb' was my way of cheating lol.

Happy reading!

* * *

 **Chapter 3:** Virginia Calling

"You're cutting the Union off?"

 _The cabal has struck again!_ _Aaron and his damn politicizing bullshit_. He had to find a way to part him from Deanna, especially now that Maggie wasn't there to be his lookout. It had taken them weeks to finalise their laws, every line had been discussed in excruciating detail, yet no one had thought of establishing rules for dating members of other communities, especially those who were tied to the leadership.

Rick continued chopping peppers. "You couldn't find time to settle in?"

He had heard the ruckus of his arrival from the window; children running to see if something exciting had been brought and Abraham throwing insults from the watchtower. Mrs Reynolds had rushed past, tray in hand (Rick would never understand how those pies were always at the ready, fresh from the oven each time with tendrils of smoke floating around the thinly cut slices).

Jesus leaned on the island and crossed his arms. "I'm settled."

Rick considered throwing him out of the kitchen and making him wait in the living room like everyone else. Hershel babbled in his high chair.

"You wanna kick him out too?" he asked.

His godson smiled and stuffed more applesauce in his mouth. Most of it went on the napkin he had tied around his neck again.

Jesus smiled. "Aren't you southerners meant to be hospitable?"

"Times changed." He pointed his knife at the gun on the counter before adding the peppers and onions to the pan.

"I thought the 'no interfering whilst cooking' thing was a joke."

"It's not."

It was still a new rule. There were recipe books in the house when they moved in and he had taken to reading them sometimes when sleep evaded him. There was something about the formulaic aspect he found soothing. A simple world where 'A' and 'B' allowed you to construct something that others could enjoy. He understood then why Carol liked the process so much, but it wasn't until a year ago he decided to recreate a dish whose ingredients he spent the night reciting – he had fallen asleep on the table and woken up feeling like his neck would never be right again.

Jesus removed his hat.

"Hershel my buddy my man. You have my deepest apologies for disturbing you this fine morning but see – your godfather has this tendency to be this word that I'll teach when your older—"

"Does this apology extend to you leaving my property of your own accord?"

Jesus smiled, showing teeth. "Or I could join you for breakfast like the good friends we are?"

He sighed. "The Union isn't getting cut off. Like I said, the door's open but I'm not leaving Alexandria exposed for the sake of your discussions."

"I may have had the idea but you made this Union." Jesus frowned. "Everything we have here; the trade routes, the laws, the network of supplies, they were your idea."

"And no one will let me forget it," he muttered.

Jesus made an amused sound. "What else is there to talk about? We're in an age without television. The only things we have to speculate on are each other's lives or you and Zeke, our very own personal celebrities." The mirth left his voice and his expression sharpened. "You can't hang us out to dry. You were there with the rest of us when the laws were written."

Though he spent most of his time in Alexandria, Jesus still considered the Hilltop to be his home. His loyalty was admirable but for Rick it was also a source of irritation. They had fought side by side and there was a kinship there that came from stepping off a ledge together. A brotherhood built off of placing your life in another person's hands and constantly carrying theirs in your palms. There was no being a leader if you didn't rely on the people behind you, knowing they would shoot at the fucker you didn't see – and Jesus definitely would. But that loyalty also extended to Gregory and therein lay the problem.

"I'm not hanging them out to dry. I made the decision that'll let us take care of this threat as quickly as possible. You're in those meetings with me. Let me know if you see a resolution and I'll be there right behind you."

"You could bypass Gregory if you wanted," Jesus said. "Make Alexandria and the Hilltop one community."

Rick couldn't think of anything he wanted less. Gregory was a coward but in his own way he did what he thought was best for his community. As long as Alexandria and The Kingdom weren't endangered in that goal, he would let him be.

"One of the reasons we created the Union was to avoid that." He stirred the sausages and turned the heat down. "We could have gotten rid of Gregory three years ago but you vouched for him, remember?"

Jesus sighed, moving from the island to take a seat next to Hershel.

"He was still the one who founded Hilltop. He's also a friend, I owed it to him to at least try."

Rick wondered if Gregory would have fought for him the same way. "You could do it too you know. The people know you and they trust you."

"If I was leader material I would have become one by now, Gregory wouldn't have lasted as long as he did." Jesus rubbed a palm across his face. "Instead I just did damage control."

"Then there's nothing to be done. Gregory won't let go because we asked him nicely."

"I thought it'd be easier with the Union. That with you and Zeke at the table he'd have no choice but to follow reason more often than not." Jesus tapped his fingers on the table in a plodding beat and Hershel slapped his hands on the high chair in imitation.

Rick gave an absent-minded smile.

"I'm not just saying this because it came to me," Jesus said. "Many people at the Hilltop feel the same. This merging of communities isn't something they'd resent."

He shook his head. "It's never happening."

Jesus gave a tired smiled. "You say that, but maybe one day my words will stick so I'll keep on repeating them." The chair scrapped along the floor as he stood. He ruffled Hershel's hair.

"Alexandria's doors will always be open to you," Rick said.

It was the best he could do.

"I have a responsibility to that place." Jesus pulled his hat on. "I can never be an Alexandrian even if I do spend most of time here. When the time comes for battle, you'll call?"

"We'll need you on our side, that's not gonna change."

Jesus nodded.

"Hi Paul." Carl walked in the kitchen. "You staying for breakfast?"

"No, some other time maybe. Aaron cooked something." He aimed a fist at Carl's sheriff hat and swiped it off his head when he tried to duck.

"You're still too slow." He placed the hat on Hershel's head and walked out.

XxXPITMXxX

"Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea." Gabriel's gaze swept over the congregation.

Rick had been surprised when he first attended his service. It had taken some time for him to marry the ardent delivery to Gabriel's otherwise quiet disposition.

Deanna had requested a sermon. The community's moral needed boosting she said. Something to remind them of all they had to be grateful for and hope, she said, for triumph at the road's end.

Rick sat at the back of the church with Hershel in his lap and Carl by his side. Maggie would have been up-front with Glenn, sitting alongside Deanna if she'd been well. He usually found other ways to occupy his time, but Deanna wanted the entire council there and had showed up at his door specifically. She was a politician in the old world and things were still public relations and image with her, but her advise was invaluable on most days so he humoured her.

He wasn't a stranger to this routine. He grew up in a small town and understood from an early age that church was a social call as much as an act of faith. His father was Sheriff, and when Rick had taken his complaining too far one morning, he sat him down and explained that making others feel safe was more than going to the station and doing his rounds, it was showing your face at these seemingly insignificant moments; how you felt wasn't always the important thing. Rick hadn't gone to church much but he had applied that concept with rigour: _You do good by your family and you do good by your community._

"The Earth _had_ been removed, and the mountains _were_ carried into the sea," Gabriel said. "But I was afraid and I felt betrayed when this destruction came: when this plague of the walking dead fell upon us I forsook God and hid."

Hershel squirmed in his lap. Rick set him down, but kept his legs on either side of him.

"Not long to go now," he whispered, "we'll go see your parents soon."

"Mama?" Hershel asked.

"Yeah, we'll go see mama."

The boy used his leg as a pillow and returned his focus on the toy Carl had brought for him. He was an easy kid to please. Hershel rarely cried unless he was unwell or had been away from his parents for too long.

"Mine were the dead," Gabriel said. "But yours maybe may be the illness of a loved one, an injury you sustained or an act you refuse to forgive yourself for. We live in an imperfect world but the word tells us we are more than conquerors."

Carl shifted beside him, elbows resting on his knees as he twirled the Sheriff hat between his hands.

Rick tapped his arm. "Keep an eye on Hershel."

"What's wrong?" Carl placed the toddler in his lap as Rick left their pew.

He kneeled next to Mrs Watkins, the grey-eyed woman was clutching the front of her blouse, her breath coming in short broken gasps. A few people turned to look at them.

"You need me to call someone?" he asked.

"Oh no, no. I'll be fine. Just, I just need some air is all." She patted his hand as he helped her from her seat. Maggie had put a sofa chair at the back of the church to keep her comfortable. She had injured her hip three years ago during an attack on the community. Denise had managed to save her leg but she'd have to live with the pain for the rest of her life.

"It's just this heat starting to creep in gets my asthma all riled," she said as the church doors closed behind them. "You don't have to stay."

"It's no bother," he leaned against the railing as she took a seat on the porch swing.

She laughed. "You using me to skive off church, sheriff?"

"Now why would you think that? I'm Just making sure my favourite resident makes it home okay."

"My hip may be bust but I'm only sixty-two thank you very much," she said. "God forbid I start needing help walking home at this age."

"You really gonna throw me under the bus?" he asked.

"Take a seat."

He smiled and sat down.

"Deanna drag you out here?"

"Yeah," he looked at the people passing by. "Thought I'd come to the first one and get it over with."

Gabriel would be giving the sermon four more times because the church wasn't large enough to hold the entire community.

"How about you?"

"What do you mean, me?" she scoffed. "Some of us _actually_ like church."

A smile tugged at his lips. "I didn't mean it like that."

They sat in silence.

"You ever get this feeling like you're wearing two skins?" The words spilled out of nowhere. Rick felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. He looked at his hands and waited for Mrs Watkins to make some glib that would give him a way out. She didn't.

He took a breath. "Like there's the you, you spent your whole life being but there was also another you, you didn't quite know about right beneath the surface and-" he licked his lips. "And after it woke up one day and you wore it fully, the other skin just didn't quite fit anymore no matter how hard you tried."

He waited, staring at the chipped paint of the banister.

"Y'know your boy has the same mannerisms as you," she said.

A ghost of a smile graced his lips.

"Maybe it's not about choosing skins," she said. "They might just both be you and that's okay."

She stretched a leg in front of her. "Did you think one was wrong?"

It felt like a bucket of ice had been tipped down his back. He was an idiot.

A fucking idiot who hadn't learnt at all. And for a moment he was doubled over again, shaking as a sharp cold sunk to his belly and darkness settled all around, even as the heat shimmered like waves from the asphalt – Glenn's arm tight around his shoulders as a scream he hadn't realised was his own ripped around them.

A hymn drifted through the walls.

"I should head back in," he said, and was proud of the steadiness of his voice. "You'll be okay out here?"

"Yeah, they'll be pouring out soon enough."

He ignored the concern in her eyes and entered the church before she had a mind to say anything further.

XxXPITMXxX

Carl ran off as soon as church ended, muttering excuses about finishing his homework. Rick only wished he could have escaped as easily. They had crowded him as soon as the final notes of the closing hymn faded. Asking about if he'd give a talk for the younger kids, _(it would be so inspiring for them, don't you think?)_. Asking about the troubles with the trade routes, _(it would be so good to be able to send letters again, my sister and niece live in the Kingdom)._ Asking about how the Reapers would be dealt with, _(I think it's only fair that Hilltop and the Kingdom do their share. It can't all be us)._ And what was his opinion on _this_ idea and if he'd look at this or that.

It was Hershel who provided an escape route in the end. He had tugged on his shirt asking for the toilet and Rick planted a kiss on his forehead as they entered the hallway. Alexandria was led by a council voted by the citizens. Every decision required a unanimous vote yet people acted as if he had monopoly. Coming at him with this gratitude and this constant clinging as if he had all the answers. He sometimes wanted to list all the people – all the friends and family – that had fallen under his leadership and see if they clung as hard when the list ended. _You do good by your family and you good by your community._

He dried Hershel's hands.

"I walk," Hershel said, pointing at the floor when Rick put him on his hip.

"I know," he said, "but not fast enough for us to run out of here and not get caught."

"We go fast?"

"Yes, you have to be very quiet okay?"

Hershel nodded.

They would have made it were it not for Jessie walking up the steps of the church as they were exiting the premises. He stopped to greet her, hoping none of the people he had escaped chose to leave the building at that moment, and hoping even harder she was too busy to want to talk. Her presence tended to precede a feeling of guilt he had no energy to deal with at that moment. They had ended on as good a note as could be hoped for given the circumstances, but their conversations since were stunted by two emotions she wore about her like perfume; one was betrayal – the same wounded look she had when her husband had been alive – and the other, much worse, was the hope in her eyes when she looked at him.

"Hi Hershie," she stroked the boys cheek. "He really is a cutie pie."

"He definitely is," he said, hoping the smile on his face wasn't as tight as it felt. "How's your morning going?"

"It's good." She jutted her chin at the building, "Sam left his cardigan in church, I'm just heading over to get it."

He saw the boy laughing with some of the other children when church had ended. Rick was glad that he, at least, was doing well. He suspected Sam would always be reserved, but he no longer walked as if he feared being berated by his own shadow and that, if nothing else, was something Jessie would celebrate.

"I heard from Carol he's really taking to her classes."

"Oh." She looked taken aback. "Thanks for checking up."

He immediately regretted his words.

"We haven't had our parent-teacher meeting yet," she said. "I'm glad he's doing well, her classes are literally all he talks about. I can never thank Carol enough."

"She enjoys seeing these kids able to defend themselves," he said, "and she adores Sam."

"I might just pay her a visit later," she gave a watery smile. "Are you heading somewhere?"

"Taking this little one to his parents."

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "If you need me to look after him sometime, you can just drop by."

"I'll keep that in mind." He gave a short nod. "See you around Jessie."

"Wait."

He stopped.

"Rick, can we talk?" she rubbed her palms on the front of her jeans. The hope in her eyes shining brighter.

Rick rubbed the skin where his wedding band used to be. She thought him her knight in shining armour, how very wrong she was. He was the creature in the shadows of a world she would never understand. If he removed the skin of the man he had thought he was, the man he had stupidly tried to cling to, she would cringe at the image he made.

"There's nothing to say between us."

XxXPITMXxX

Maggie lay in bed, pale and bleary-eyed, strands of hair plastered to her forehead. She looked as if a leaf would knock her sideways and leave her crumpled on the floor. But her face lit up when she saw Hershel and for a moment there was a glimpse of her old self as she sat up and stretched her arms in his direction.

Rick put the toddler down and watched by the door as Glenn caught him in his arms and threw him in the air, planting kisses on his chubby cheeks before placing him on the bed so he could tuck himself in beside Maggie.

He tried not to think of a lost girl who would have been four years old. And he tried not to think of the torn, bloodied, baby carrier Tyreese had still worn when they found his wondering corpse.

"Thanks for looking after him," Maggie said.

"He's my nephew, you can dump him with me whenever you want."

She smiled.

"You having a good time with uncle Rick?" she stroked the boys hair.

He nodded. "We run."

Maggie raised an eyebrow.

"We had to make a quick getaway after church," he explained.

Glenn snorted. "They'll just come by your house later."

"By then I'll have Deanna there." He pulled a chair next to the bed. "How you holding up?"

"This is the last time I'm getting pregnant, that's for sure," she said with false joviality.

"Denise will figure it out." He took her hand and gave a gentle squeeze. "You just keep hanging in there."

These were the moments that shattered the mirage. This wasn't King County and it most certainly wasn't the old world. Denise had saved many lives but the fact remained she was trained as a psychiatrist, and there was no one to help plug the holes in her knowledge. She was the only doctor the Union had.

Rick stayed with the family, talking about any and all topics that wouldn't add to Maggie's worries. After saying his goodbyes, Glenn walked him to the doors of the hospital. There were dark circles under his eyes and Rick felt exhausted just looking at him.

"The Reapers," Glenn said.

"No one expects you to worry about that. Being with Maggie is what you need to focus on."

"No, I'll be there." There was a determined edge to his voice. "We don't get to sit out when things get tough, you taught me that. Besides," a faint smile graced his lips. "You'll need me to figure out the best routes if you're going out there. I'm still the best you got at navigating the streets."

Rick was transported to Atlanta; to a kid barely out of his teens commandeering them as he drew a route on a torn piece of paper. He smiled.

"Worried I'll ride another horse into a herd?"

"I'm hoping you're not _that_ much of a dumbass anymore."

"Alright." He laughed. "Have it your way, but you don't have to leave the community. Stay close to Maggie, you can direct us via radio."

Glenn nodded.

"I'll send Carl by later to pick up Hershel. If you need anything..."

"I'll holler."

XxXxX

He dreamt he was a boy again, guileless and free.

Strings of broken images so common since he had shed the last blankets of his youth. As if the only way his mind could now process the experiences was as a television switching on and off at random intervals of a program, so the story remained shrouded – always just a little out of his grasp, but the emotions pressed so hard that when he awoke he had to remind himself it wasn't real.

 _(Him and Shane running in a field. A woman calling at them, voice afar, and that smirk Shane had causing the entire playground to flock to him.)_

He woke up to the echoes of their laughter and a longing that was near suffocating in its ardor.

XxXxX

That afternoon they received a message from Ezekiel. The Kingdom was under attack. Andrew raised the alarm from the communication room and by the time Rick joined him, carriages were rushing by evacuating children and those unable to fight to the school, church and hospital.

"Line five." Andrew stood from his chair.

"Ezekiel?" he asked.

"It's Katherine," a woman's voice replied. "King Ezekiel has left to lead the charge. He'll be available on line three if an important message needs delivering, I'll otherwise keep you posted on events here."

"What happened?"

"At around thirteen-hundred hours, Reapers encamped the Kingdom. We sent an envoy to treat with them but were met with hostility, a guard was killed in the altercation. At thirteen-hundred and thirty hours more Reapers gathered the perimeter and a full attack ensued. There are fire bombs being launched over the walls."

"Andrew, do you copy?" Sasha's voice, sharp and urgent, cut through on the other radio. "Reapers heading our way. I repeat, Reapers heading our way. Andrew, do you copy?"

Andrew met his gaze, mouth set in a small 'o' of a silent gasp.

"Loud and clear, Sasha," Rick said. "I'll be there in a few."

"Roger that."

He rubbed a thumb on his forehead before placing a hand on his hip. "Katherine do you read?"

"Yes sir."

"Keep Andrew posted on everything happening out there. And get a message out to Ezekiel, tell him Alexandria is also under attack. Have you contacted Hilltop?"

"We haven't got a hold of anyone yet."

"Keep trying. We need to need to know if anything's happening out there. We'll do what we can on our side, if we reach them we'll let you know. I'll be on line two if someone needs me directly. You got that?"

There was a stretch of silence on the other end and what sounded like paper being torn. "Copy," came the reply.

Andrew's lips were pressed to a thin line. "It was only a matter of time," he said in a quiet voice.

Rick nodded, a warped sense of relief washing through him. He had been waiting for this moment for the past two years and now at least he could stop wondering. Perhaps this was the opening they needed to resolve everything that had gone wrong but Andrew wouldn't be part of it. Of the original Alexandrians he was one of the best fighters they had produced, but something inside him had broken out there and now – even when he laughed – there was a haunted look in his eyes. It was with near childlike fascination Rick would sometimes stare at him, wondering if he was still capable of being moved in that same way, or if the embers granted to each person for such empathies had been extinguished in him long ago.

He sometimes envied them – Andrew and the rest of humankind it would seem – that ability to break with such poise (or rather that the world allowed them to). And sometimes he wanted to grab him by the shirt-front, as he did to Gabriel a lifetime ago, and put his face in front a walker until he fought. The Union had almost fallen that day and despite not having been there, Rick was granted no rest. But Andrew here had been served with pity – kind looks and understanding smiles.

"Glenn will join you," he said.

"Rick," there was a hard look in Andrew's eyes, but the gratitude there was unmistakable. "I'll go out there if I need to."

"You won't need to," he said in a tone that brokered no arguments. This was an order.

The guards and fighters had gathered outside his home. Rick brought his horse to a standstill. He knew each of their faces – some he had taught to shoot, some he had taught to sit on horseback, some he had planted seeds and watered plants and gathered livestock with, and some he had stood beside shoulder-to-shoulder as the sounds of gunfire and dying men echoed all around.

 _You do good by your family and you do good by your community._

The shouts of the Reapers travelled past the walls and the gates and the road to hiss at the air around them.

"Alexandria is under attack," he said. "Our community, our home, our union, everything we have built these past four years. The people marching to our gates have weaker weapons. They're hungry and they're tired but they have something that can't be manufactured; the will to live. When you're out there fighting them, shooting them, killing them. I want you to remember this; they have every reason to hate us. Every reason to bring hellfire to our gates but it's their life or yours, their orphaned children or yours, their tomorrow that's to be shattered or yours. They deserve our pity and they'll receive our pity but only when they're dead. For Alexandria!"

"Alexandria!" they echoed.

"For the Union!" he shouted, driving his horse forward.

"The Union! The Union! The Union!"

XxXPITMXxX

The world was black with the smoke of burning rubber. Rick coughed as the acidic scent gathered at his throat. Eyes burning. Heart hammering in his chest. The horse veered, barely saving him from the blow of a spiked club aimed at his leg. He turned. Swung his machete blind. Once. Twice. Blood sprayed his hand as steel bit into flesh – the thud of a body falling to the ground. The horse reared in terror. His thighs and legs burned as they gripped hard to stay on the saddle, it was all he could do to keep from falling.

"Rick, do you copy?" Glenn's voice broke through the static of the walkie-talkie strapped to his hip. A rock flew passed his head. Tears streaked his face as he rode deeper into the smoke. Machete sinking into throats and arms and skulls. Each sparks of fire, each chink of metal against metal and the grunt and shouts of desperate men making his horse as likely to kill him as his enemies. There was no left, no right, only the cacophony of death at each turn. It was sheer luck that led him to the gates. Twelve guns aimed at his head.

"It's me," he managed to croak before a fit of coughs wacked through him. They let him pass.

Rick jumped off the horse gasping for air. "Good boy, good boy."

He placed his head on the stallions jaw and ruffled his mane.

Rosita ran to him. "Is it time?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. Keep holding off."

"What are we waiting for?" Rosita jogged besides him as they headed for the watchtower.

"They don't have guns but there's one more thing I need to check." He grabbed the walkie-talkie. "Glenn, what do you have?"

"Hilltop is under fire."

"Bastards hit us all at once," Rosita said.

Something was starting to nag at him.

If it weren't for the adrenaline the silence of the watchtower would seem disorientating. Here the shouts of dying men, the clash of rocks and metal still ringing in his ears seemed compressed; the last echoes of a fading dream. The Reapers carried shields made from metal and plastic bound together with dirty ropes and rusty wires. They wore helmets on their heads – from bikes and motorcycles and metal buckets with holes drilled through for eyes – and sheets of metal strapped to their legs and chests and arms. They had come swinging Molotov cocktails and smoke bombs at their walls.

The burning tires, scattered outside the community, had come later. They had meant to draw them out. The smoke was a blanket that made their guns all but useless behind the safety of the walls. Death would have its tongue licking at their cheeks – there would be nothing clean about the killing today.

"They have guns?" Aaron asked as they entered.

"No." Rick walked to the window.

He had set out with thirty people, four on the only battle trained horses that they had. Half the terrain remained obscured by smoke, but he could see Sasha and Heath, both on horses, covering their half of the Alexandrians fighting on foot.

Rick took his walkie-talkie. "Daryl. Sasha, pull back. I repeat, this is a call for a 2-1-2."

"The fuck," Rosita looked at him as if he lost his mind. "We out-weapon those people."

"Rick." Aaron shook his head. "We should finish this."

"Sasha. Daryl, fall back. I repeat, fall back. This a call for a 2-1-2."

Aaron and Rosita glanced at each other as he signaled them to join him at the window. "Watch."

"What are we looking at?" Aaron asked.

"Do you notice anything?"

"We're pulling back." Rosita's forehead creased in concentration as she tried to figure out what he was getting at. "They're not pushing," she finally said, her voice quiet. "The Reapers aren't pushing."

"What would I say if it was us out there?"

"Pull the noose," Aaron said.

His laugh sounded like a stranger's. "Pull the fucking noose, unless we were hitting at something different."

The Reapers had walked to their gates knowing their lives could be forfeit. If it was them out there he'd have given a single order; get to the goal post no matter what. They were fighting to kill, but they weren't going beyond that goal.

"Take command of your group," he turned to Rosita. "We finish this now. No more holding back, get that message out to the others."

She nodded and made for the stairs.

"Rosita," he said after a pause. "If you can take some alive, do it. Don't shoot unless you have to."

She disappeared without a word.

"Get Ezekiel on the line," he said to Aaron. "Tell him to pull his people back, see what happens."

Each of them went to a radio. Aaron put his headphones on.

He tried line one. "Hilltop do you read? Jesus, come in. Hilltop to you read?"

He was about to switch to line four when Jesus, sounding as if he'd been running, answered. "About fucking time. Things are crazy out here, we'll need backup to finish this."

"We'll be there as soon as possible," he said. "Listen, I need you to call for a 2-1-2."

"What?" he could hear shouts in the background. "Rick it's manic out there, we're being pushed right to the brink. Faking a retreat isn't what we need right now."

Aaron took his headphones off and shook his head at him.

"Just for a moment." Rick rubbed his face on the shoulder of his t-shirt. "I need you to trust me."

"Rick—"

"There's no time to explain!"

There was a sigh. "Alright."

The line went silent.

"The Reapers aren't pushing back on the Kingdom either," Aaron said, from the look on his face he was starting to reach the same conclusion.

There was the sound of static on the radio.

"Jesus, do you copy?" he grabbed the receiver. "Jesus?"

"They're pushing forward!" Jesus said, voice harsh. "They're not pulling back."

His gaze locked with Aaron's. "Jesus, listen to me. Whatever you do, you don't let up. Go for the throat."

"I will not allow that." Gregory's voice drifted through the speakers and Rick felt a sinking at the pit of his stomach. "This is exactly the type of barbaric acts the Union is supposed to stand against. These people have nothing, I believe we can defeat them without resorting to such pointless thuggery."

Rick's head tilted to the side as his lips pressed together. "Gregory listen, they won't let up. Alexandria and the Kingdom were decoys. Hilltop is their real goal, they'll do everything to breach your walls."

"Still with pitchforks and bats. They're running out of fire bombs as we speak, what you're suggesting—"

"You don't know they're running of anythan'."

"What you're calling for is savagery of the highest order."

"Sometimes it's not the act damn it! Just the threat of it will be enough. Gregory—"

The line cut off.

"Fucking piece of shit!" he slammed his fist on the table.

"We can't leave it there." Aaron looked pale. "The Hilltop isn't as much of a fighting community as the rest of us."

"I know," he held a hand out. "I know. Get down there, get fresh horses and send word out to Daryl, Rosita and Heath, we're going to Hilltop."

Rick grabbed the receiver.

"Ezekiel, do you read? Kingdom this is Rick Grimes, come in. Ezekiel do you read?"

"The realm hears your voice Rick Grimes of Alexandria, it pleases us to know our allies fair well."

Rick closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a slow drawn out breath.

"You may share your tidings with the King," Ezekiel said.

"The attack on us both is a decoy."

"Your compatriot enlightened us on the realities, the Kingdom gives you thanks. We are aware of The Hilltop's plight, Jesus requested our aid not long before you called."

"I'm taking some of my guys and heading out there."

"The realm will join you on this endeavour," Ezekiel said. "The Union stands."

XxXPITMXxX

The others were waiting at the foot of the watchtower. Guns on shoulders and hips, and bottles of water slung across their backs. Rick pulled himself on the horse that had been left for him.

"Hilltop?" Daryl shook his head.

"The Union's food basket." Rick's laugh was humourless. "Seems like they've been watching more closely than I gave them credit for."

"We ain't gonna make it on time. Not on these," Daryl indicated the horses.

"Let's hope Jesus manages to hold out long enough," he said. They had no other option, he wouldn't bet on Gregory if he were fighting an army of imbeciles.

"My group will go out first," Sasha said, she was half covered in blood. "Give you enough cover to make it past the fighting."

Rick removed his walkie-talkie and gave it to her. "Get someone in the watchtower. You and Abraham have full command whilst I'm gone. Tell Glenn to try and get hold of Jesus, tell him to do whatever he can to keep Hilltop standing. You finish what's out here."

"They won't get passed our gates," she said, voice firm. "Alright y'all let's go!" she called at the men and women under her charge.

He rode into the chaos.

They had almost reached the end of the street – Sasha and the Reapers long behind them – when an explosion threw him to the ground as his horse panicked and bolted.

Rick rolled in the dirt and stumbled as he tried to stand. Someone slammed into him. A hard blow that knocked his breath out and sent him sprawling down. He swung his elbow hard and made contact with a windpipe. It wasn't enough. The man above him pulled a knife and Rick had just enough time to think, shit! A hole appeared on his forehead. The man slumped forward, blood oozing on his cheeks. Rick pushed him off and looked around for his rescuer.

"Dad?" Carl whispered from behind an old car that had weeds growing up its wheels.

A slow pounding started in his temples.

He grabbed the machete he had lost in his fall and kept low as he ran to the car.

"There's two others," Carl said in a hushed tone.

Rick put a finger to his lips and signaled him to listen. There were walkers nearby.

"Cover me," he said.

He crouched, moving around the car in careful steps.

Rick whistled. The walker turned – mouth opened in a snarl and teeth biting at air in anticipation. The steel of the machete cut its scalp in half and thick blobs of blood (unique to the dead) splattered his face.

"Get down." He pulled Carl by the arm. A clatter of hooves approached the other side of the car.

"Get out or I shoot," Daryl said.

Rick sighed in relief and waved his arm up. "It's me."

"Weren't sure how many they were," Daryl said. "Heath took out two of them. Reckon they were fleeing the fighting."

"It was only three," Carl said, moving from behind him. "The other one attacked dad but we took care of him."

Daryl looked at him and quirked an eyebrow. Upon seeing the look on his father's face Carl closed his mouth.

"My horse ran off," he said.

"Rosita found him." Daryl nodded at the road ahead. "Almost got his ass chewed by a walker."

Rick and Carl followed in silence as Daryl led them to the others. He thanked them as he got on the horse. "Let's move, we've lost enough time."

Carl stood by awkwardly and looked at the road leading back to the community.

Rick walked his horse to him. "Get on," he said through gritted teeth.

XxXPITMXxX

By the time The Hilltop came into view the sun was low in the sky. Their journey was made longer by avoiding as much of the trade routes as they could in case an ambush had been set, though Rick was sure there hadn't.

With every meter of approach the dread inside him grew. The Hilltop was the least military community of the Union. Its people were more focused on farming than combat, and many had survived this new world without having to face the extent of its horrors until the Sphinxes had provided them a taste three years ago. Against the rage of the Reapers they wouldn't stand a chance, their only hope were the guns and bullets they possessed. Rick cursed their lack of fossil fuels, he cursed the walkers in their paths, he cursed that day two years ago and most of all he cursed Gregory.

The scars of battle were everywhere.

Crude shields and cruel pieces of metal lay scattered in the grass – the scent of petrol and charred rubber making the air around them taste bitter. Fallen bodies yet to rise were being devoured by those who had. They put down as many as they could but couldn't afford to do much more than clear the path in front them. Energy had to be reserved for the living and whatever would greet them at the gates.

A sharp string of Spanish made him grab his gun. Carl's arm gripped him hard as he too waved his weapon around trying to find an assailant.

"It's Jesus!" Rosita said in a loud whisper.

Aaron jumped off his horse and ran to her side, shoving away dead bodies to pull at the man struggling beneath. He nearly toppled him to the ground again as the two of them embraced. Aaron helped Jesus to a sitting position and held a bottle of water to his lips.

The dread inside him turned to stone, cold and unyielding. "What happened?"

Jesus wiped the water than had trickled down his chin.

"Gregory let them in." He groaned as Aaron and Heath helped him stand. "Said that it was the better way, that they'd be able to reason and form a bigger community that encompassed everyone. I couldn't change his mind."

Rick closed his eyes and tilted his head at the darkening sky.

"Son of a bitch," Daryl said.

Rick looked at Jesus. "You alright?"

"It's nothing serious. I landed badly when I jumped from the watchtower."

Rosita shook her head. "What now?"

"We speak to Gregory," he said. _And I try not to kill him where he stands._

XxXPITMXxX

Gregory refused to meet unless the others stayed behind. He had shouted his demands from the watchtower as the Hilltop guards stood by unsure of what to do. He wanted him to be weaponless. _Rosa,_ _be a darling and hold his guns,_ he had said to which Daryl replied that once they got a hold of him he'd start off by chopping up his lips.

He rode halfway to the gates and waited as Daryl and Rosita watched from further afield. It was here they had all gathered three years ago to create the Union after the Sphinxes were defeated. Here that Glenn presented them the routes he had mapped for trades, here they had decided how to fortify those routes and here they had debated the laws they would live under. The pacts that would govern the Union. _Things break but they can still grow_ , Hershel had told him a lifetime ago. He had tried to make it grow. Judith would never see the new world but he vowed that day that Carl would live in it. He wouldn't allow that work to come undone. Not now.

The gates opened just enough to allow Gregory out. He approached on a grey stallion wearing khaki cargo pants and a crisp blue shirt with the top button undone, his patronising smile holding an edge of scorn just faint enough to keep from being addressed.

"Rick, it's good of you to come. I'd invite you in to clean up of course..." Gregory motioned to the dirt on his pants and the blood that had caked on his arms and t-shirt. "But I think it's best we leave that for another visit, things aren't quite settled here. You understand of course."

He tried to keep himself collected. Tried to remember how he'd been trained to speak to those on the verge of committing atrocities.

"It's not too late to turn this around."

The smiled wavered. "My hands weren't forced. I made the best decision for the Hilltop and in time it'll be for the benefit of the entire Union."

"And Jesus?"

"He choose to leave." The smile disappeared. "Decided to jump off the watchtower, there was no time to send him help. He's okay I trust?"

"I don't know."

Gregory's face flushed red. "We both know Jesus can take care of himself. He can return whenever he wants, this is his home."

"That's a conversation for the two of you to have, provided nothing's happened to him." He cocked his head to one side as he held his gaze. "You understand my meaning of course."

Gregory shifted in his saddle. "I'm in the process of negotiating a deal that'll be of benefit to us all. I'm making paramount steps to brokering peace for the Union."

"Am I missing something here?" He couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, a low dry chuckle devoid of warmth. "From where I stand you're being held captive in your own community, that's not usually a reasonable setting for negotiations. You've handed them the keys to Hilltop with a bow tied around for good measure; you go back in there and you'll be at their mercy. We still out weapon them. Ezekiel is on his way, we can drive them out and negotiate on our own terms. We'll create something that includes them without putting Hilltop at their mercy."

"You mean without putting yourself at their mercy." Gregory's face darkened. "It's supposed to be a three-way leadership, you don't have a monopoly. We can all make individual decisions for our communities, that was the pact."

He shook his head. "Not when it affects the rest of us."

"You made a decision to protect Alexandria. We weren't included in your scoutings and briefings."

"The doors were left open. My choices weren't at the expense of any of you, it was your indecision that kept you away."

Gregory's lips twisted in an expression that wasn't quite a smile. "Perhaps the real reason you hate this so much is that you won't be at the head of the table for once. The great Rick Grimes finally the same size as the rest of us."

"This isn't the way," he said, his entire body throbbed with barely restrained anger. "Being on the outside, it changes you. You don't know the type of people you're letting in. You have women and children in there – people who can't defend themselves, they're who you need to think about."

Movements in the watchtower caught his attention. Something was being tied at the top of the Hilltop gates.

Gregory turned and followed his gaze. "Ah," he said and smiled, reaching inside the pocket of his pants to pull out a neatly folded cloth, slightly wrinkled at the seams. He unfolded it and held it out for him to see.

"Don't tread on me," Gregory said. "This is the banner they fought beneath. Quite fitting words, don't you think?"

Rick's expression turned to stone. "Those words apply to you as much as the rest of the Union. Or have you forgotten what led us here?"

"No one knows what happened that day." Gregory raised his chin. "Maybe my guy was just an excuse for something you ordered. You've got quite the streak of violence Rick."

"Gregory, listen to me," he said through gritted teeth. "Maybe you want to make things right, I get that, but this isn't the way. We all want peace. No one in the Union will argue against that but we need to go about it the proper way. What you're doing here is putting everything we've built in danger."

"'The world we knew might never return. The things we lost might never be regained but we can create something to be proud of," Gregory recited through pursed lips. "Something our children will be able to look back on and say to their own children that when the end came their fathers didn't break, they weren't cowed, they didn't allow nature to dictate their existence, they stood and they built something.' – those were your words remember?"

His horse walked until he was directly in front of Gregory.

The other man flinched, then tightening his hands on the reins of his horse and straightening his back as if remembering himself.

Rick stared him in the eyes. "Never throw those words at me again," he said in a low voice deceptive in its calm. "I meant every single one but that doesn't change the reality of where we are."

Gregory moved away. "You don't get to call the shots on this one," he said. "This is what you started. A new world was what the Union was meant to be, I'm just carrying that torch and enlarging it. This is the way."

"If this goes wrong it'll be your people's blood on your hands!"

Gregory rode away and behind him the gates of the Hilltop closed.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Hi guys, I hope this chapter finds you well. This update will answer the questions some of you had about the number of kids Michonne has. I had a lot of fun writing it and I really hope you enjoy… despite what I've done in the first section (please don't throw your shoes or rotten veggies at me). More notes at the end. Happy reading!

* * *

 **Chapter 4:** Doomsday

The third wall had fallen. Marcus achieved what every Drifter wanted since that day two years ago, when their cries for help were met with gunfire.

It was Julian who carried the news to them. It had taken him three days of hard riding across the state, and to Michonne he had the look of a man who had awoken from a deep slumber and was no longer certain of his reality.

When she was a child, Michonne would go to church with her grandmother each Sunday. There was a certain ritual to it; like the scent of her mother's apple pie wafting through the house, and her father's beard scratching her cheek when he hugged her. A ritual that clung to her memories and filled her with warmth even now, when she no longer believed in incorporeal bodies listening to their prayers.

She didn't know what outcome she would have prayed for, hoped for (kneeling on the cold wooden floor of her cabin, eyes determinedly shut or focused on the winking flame of a dying candle. The scent of wax and smoke filling her up) if her faith was still intact. Some people met the news of the Resistances' victory with glee, others were less certain. What Michonne felt was trepidation the likes of which hadn't gripped her since they were on the road, following the loose hope of Washington; those days when her eyes would snap open at the slightest sound and she would sit, listening to the night, as she cradled Judith against her with one arm and held her sword in the other.

Michonne approached the school. It was more a cabin then anything one might have ordinarily associated with the word. Siobhan had cancelled all classes that day, but from the window she could see Morgan hunched over the desk at the front of the classroom. He raised his head when he heard her approaching.

Michonne paused at the threshold, taking in the haphazard zigzags of desks and chairs. "Jamie said you were looking for me."

"I was." Morgan placed his pencil on the desk and came to her side to close the door.

She walked to the centre of the classroom, crossing her arms as she turned to him. "Are you going to try and change my mind again?"

"Would you listen if I did?"

She smiled and ducked her head in an attempt to conceal it before looking at him again. "I truly believe this is something we have to do, I wouldn't be going if I didn't."

"Then let me take your place," he said in that reasonable voice all teachers seemed to share. "Or at least let me come with you. Don't do this on your own, Michonne. We've all put our lives on the line to build this place – you don't always have to carry it."

"This time I do." She shook her head. "If this plan fails, it could mean death for whoever goes out there. This was my idea so I have to take the forefront. I can't let anyone take that fall for me."

"We risk our lives each time we're out there." Morgan pressed his palms on the desk beside her as if to centre himself. "It's a risk we can't escape and each of us knows that."

"Doesn't mean I should needlessly throw lives away." Michonne frowned. "How do I do that and then look these people in the eyes and ask them to still follow me?"

"You have children. That gives you more than a reason to give this to someone else or—" Morgan rubbed a hand on his scalp, frustration clear as day. "Or at least a reason to reconsider. The third wall has fallen, we can't know what the other communities will do. There's a reason Marcus aimed for them and not the other two communities. The Resistance may be fine, but don't forget the Hawks and League are out there too."

"I get what you're saying, I do. But the fact that we don't know is exactly why this is the perfect timing. It gives them a reason to perhaps consider our offer."

"Perhaps," Morgan repeated, voice seeped in derision, "is not a definite."

"Don't you think I know that?"

She hardly found sleep these past few days. Her brain had morphed into a television whose sole purpose was to bombard her – each second, with high-definition rundowns of how things could fall apart.

Morgan's face softened. "I'm sorry for that, I just—"

Michonne waved a hand to stop him. There were lines of chalk dust on the blackboard where someone hadn't bothered using a wet cloth. She released a slow breath as she looked at the yellow-pink residues. Morgan's hand slid into hers. Michonne took hold and gave a gentle squeeze before releasing him.

"I need you here, Morgan." She leaned on the desk behind her and Morgan's eyes trailed across her body as he followed her movements. "I need to know if something happens to me, this community will keep on surviving. I need to know my children will have a future with hope, without knowing that I won't be able to do this. I won't be able to function like I need to out there."

Morgan opened his mouth then closed it as she cut him off.

"You designed this community's security network, Von is a doctor and both of you are fighters. Your knowledge is needed here. As soon as shit goes left Ayda and Yekne get their asses out of there – that's the plan. I need to know you're onboard with it."

Morgan hung his head and sighed deep. "Okay." He nodded. "Okay," he reaped more firmly as if to convince himself.

"I need to hear you say it." Michonne stared at the patterns swirling across his face from the light streaming through window, and was reminded of a long ago day beneath a mulberry tree.

"You have my word," he said and a small bit of peace swirled amid the storm inside her. "I would give my life for those kids, you know that."

She nodded, a sad smile on her face.

Morgan walked to his desk, searched through the papers scattered there and paused when he found what he was looking for.

"I want to give you something," he said and moved to stand before her.

Michonne took the large sheet he held and carefully unrolled it. "This is—"

"What this place will look like when you're done."

Michonne trailed her hand above the sketches he had made not wanting to mar it with her fingertips. The message wasn't lost on her. He had argued every step of the way since she announced her plan, but in between the arguments he had still gone and done this, for her. As often proved to be the case where Morgan was concerned, she didn't know what to say. _Thank you,_ seemed so inadequate a phrase at times.

"It's beautiful."

"Have it in mind when you're negotiating," Morgan's voice was thick. "It has everything you said we could get from this."

He had taken the community and remodeled it to have walls and houses amid the acres of trees and farmland surrounding them. Their treehouse watchpoints were connected in a web of platforms that surrounded the entire community. She would never, by her own imaginings, have conjured such an image. It looked nothing like the old world, but that didn't lessen her desire to sink her fingers through the graphite and tuck her children deep inside.

It always shocked her that he hadn't been an architect before, in the old world. She remembered the street in King County he transformed into a walker-trap. Back then, she dismissed it as nothing but the musings of a deranged mind, but it was this talent that allowed them to live in a community with no walls and live to tell the tales.

She grinned. "When I'm negotiating?"

"This won't be how you die," Morgan said, as if it were that simple. "If you have to kill them all, so be it."

Michonne laughed, grateful for the sentiment, though they both knew – the chances of her escaping the Wallers' territory were near impossible.

"What happened to all life is precious?" she asked, teasing.

"Not when it threatens those you love."

The smile slowly dropped from her face. Her gaze flickered to Morgan's lips before rising to meet his eyes again.

"Morgan I—"

"Give us a chance Michonne," his voice a strained whisper.

Michonne released a short jagged breath. "I'm leaving tomorrow," she blurted, unsure whether the aim was to dissuade. She could barely hear her voice above the blood pounding through her ears.

"Then kiss me," he said, moving to close the distance between them. His hand settled on her collarbone and, ever so slowly trailed across her neck. "When you return we'll figure it out." His thumb stroked her chin.

Michonne's eyes fluttered closed _,_ a reckless need gnawed at her insides.

 _(It had been so long time since someone kissed her and in three days' time she might be dead.)_

Would it be so wrong to believe that she'd return?

Perhaps all dying men were reckless in the end but if she was to die then maybe, after everything, she owed him enough to not make this a last-ditch effort to grasp at life. Typical, that now of all times she chose sensibility. She would laugh if she wasn't so sure she'd wind up sobbing.

Morgan's face lowered towards her and Michonne didn't hesitate to capture his lips with her own. It would be with surety she done this; there would no ghosts breathing in the spaces between them.

It was a kiss full of long-gone conversations, of so many things hinted and unspoken promises. Of a faraway day beneath a mulberry tree when he had asked her for a chance. Morgan traced his tongue on her lower lip and pulled her flush against him (something inside her shattered). Michonne opened her mouth and as their tongues met she thought that finally, she was ready to let him in.

XxXPITMXxX

"Are we in the sea now mommy?" Judith's looked at the pale blue sheets surrounding them, eyes so wide she looked like a cartoon.

"Yep." Michonne bit her lip to stop from laughing at the seriousness of her tone. "We need to get back before the fishes eat our picnic."

Judith giggled. "Fishes don't eat sandwiches," she said and Michonne smiled.

"Who told you that?"

"You said," the girl accused. "You said that fishes only eat foods that mermaids cook. You're not a mermaid mommy."

"Dragons eat san-witches," Levi said, wiggling to lie on his stomach, his constant fidgeting causing lumps to form on the blanket beneath them. _Ants in his pants_ , her feral child. There was always something new to touch, poke, pull at or (often to Michonne's horror) shove in his mouth. She wondered sometimes if the wildness was from her, but then she would look at him and it was all his father's grit and smile and intensity, not yet tempered, rippling right below.

Her grandmother used to say that babies heard echoes of your thoughts in the womb, and that was why Michonne pranced around like 'the damned Queen of Sheba' as a child – her mother kept insisting it wasn't the right time. If that was the case then she was entirely to blame for Levi; he slipped out of her mischievous in his defiance: _I dare you not to love me,_ his eyes seemed to say and she had fallen right there and then.

"Dragons only eat sandwiches that giants make," Michonne said.

Levi jumped to his knees and threw his arms high above his head. "I be a giant when I grow."

"Stop moving Lee." Judith frowned as she put an arm around the blue-eyed kid she insisted on taking everywhere. "You'll hurt Bluebell. Bluebell's never been in the sea," she whispered as she stroked her coat.

"We'll help Bluebell make friends with the fishes," Michonne said, turning to rest an arm beneath her head.

Judith shrieked as blue sheets came falling around them. "Lee-vi!"

Michonne was impressed. He had lasted much longer than she thought he would. There was a muffled 'oops' above them and his small hands patted her arm as he tried to raise the sheets, but failed because his feet were on the very section he wanted to pull. Michonne disentangled herself and stood.

Levi twisted a finger on his bottom lip as she stared at him. "Sorry," he said, the r's sounding like w's.

Michonne kept the frown on her face and her hands on her hips.

"Levi Tyreese Grimes," she said. "I challenge you to a dual."

"Run Lee! Run!" Judith called, her mousy hair poking out between the sheets.

"Judy come help," cried Levi as she chased him.

"Princess Judith can't save you, Levi of the Antsy Pants." Michonne pointed at Bluebell. "Why, all she has is a teeny tiny baby goat."

"I have a sword," Judith said. "I'll save you Levi!"

From beneath the sheets Judith pulled her other constant companion, a wooden sword with _Judith_ written in swirly letters at the hilt.

It was now Michonne's turn to be chased outside their cabin. She kept a faint jog before flopping to the floor, allowing the children to fall on her.

"We catch you!" Levi raised his arms in triumph as Judith used her sword to poke her in the stomach.

The Apple trees were starting to bud. Michonne could see leaves on branches that two weeks ago were fully bare. Soon there would be row upon row of pale pink blossoms stretching half a side of the community. Last spring, Judith wanted to visit the orchards every day; she'd point at the pink and white treetops and would stare wide-eyed as Michonne told her that soon the flowers would become apples or pears or peaches. She learned her colours in those fields. It was with an ache Michonne realised she might not be there this year to witness her excitement at the trees looking like giant candy floss from their cabin.

A tug at her hair returned her to the present. Judith lay beside her on the grass fiddling with her locs. She did the same as a baby, except back then it would be going straight to her mouth. Michonne stroked her hair as she kissed her brow; she would be a brunette, she was sure of it now. _I might not be here to see that either_. She shoved at the thought.

"Mommy loves you so much, you know that?" She stood and scooped her in her arms.

Judith placed her head on the crook of her neck, wrapped her legs around her waist and placed her skinny arms around her neck without complaint. Perhaps she just felt like being babied today, but Michonne was grateful for the familiarity of her weight on her chest and in her arms. It seemed like it was yesterday she cried whenever she put her in the cot.

A desperate panic threatened to overwhelm her and as she held onto Judith and watched Levi lifting Bluebell by the tail, she managed pull herself together.

"Come on Lee," she wiggled her fingers to signal him to take hold. "Let's wash our hands and eat."

XxXPITMXxX

Time had doubled than tripled speed, leaving her flummoxed; caught between barely suppressed hysteria and a strange sort of tranquility.

All she wanted was the day with her children and she had been granted that at least, no matter how fast it had all seemed to go. They would huddle on her mattress tonight; Levi kicking in his sleep and Judith clutching the duvet tight between her fist. This she would take with her and it'd have to be enough. Tomorrow she would wear her mask but not yet.

"Another story mama," Levi said. Already he was half asleep in her lap. The excitement of them all sleeping on the same bed without a thunderstorm raging outside had Judith putting a harder fight, but it wouldn't be long now. Michonne placed Levi on the bed and lay beside him, adjusting the duvet on both children.

She stretched a hand to the kerosene lamp on the floor, and lowered the wick until the cabin was bathed in darkness. She listened to the rise and fall of their steady breathing and closed her eyes.

"Once upon a time," she whispered to the dark. "There were two children called Judith and Levi. One day their mother had to go somewhere far far away. So far away she didn't know if there would ever be enough years in the universe to find her way back to their tiny village again. She didn't want to leave the children by themselves, but there were too many monsters lurking outside the village and every day they got closer and closer to their gates. Groaning and making the most dreadful frightening sounds. Their mother worried that soon the gates wouldn't be able to hold them back and they would break through and catch them in the dark.

A traveller came and told her of a wondrous place far beyond their village where they would give her a key to keep them safe forever. It was the only way, the traveller said. You can't take them with you when you go, he had warned.

And so their mother set off early one morning when Judith and Levi were still asleep.

She searched and searched for the road the traveller had spoken of but no matter how hard she looked she couldn't find it.

She thought of her children and the monsters outside the village and every day she grew sadder as she searched. Every day the roads twinned and she became weaker and weaker until one day her sword became too heavy and fell from her grasp.

She knew then that it wouldn't be long until she fell as well, but she couldn't give up. The woman loved her children so much that everyday her heart grew to hold the love inside her. She was so tired, she couldn't see that every day she walked her feet became lighter until they barely touched the floor. Her heart grew so big there wasn't enough space for it in the world anymore, it became so big that it carried her away higher and higher until only the sky was big enough to hold her.

And every day the woman sings from the sky, and when she sings no monsters roam the Earth. She sings of André, the little prince of fairies, who finds all the lost little children and brings them to the light. She sings of the willowy lady of the castle by the lake who keeps a safe room for them all in the storms. She sings of the blue-eyed man who carries the world on his shoulders and keeps it spinning in the sky, and she sings of the brave boy who heals all their hearts.

And she'll keep on singing until the children grow and grow and grow and she'll keep on singing until one day, when they have done all there is to do and are too great for the little planet to hold, they too can be carried to the sky and there they'll be together again forever and ever."

XxXPITMXxX

A faint knock drew her from a fitful sleep. It felt like barely a minute had passed since her eyes closed. The chill seemed worse than usual that morning, but she thought the same each day that wasn't summer. She hated leaving the warmth of her bed.

The cabin was steeped in darkness but her fingers found the matches on the floor and the kerosene lamp was lit with the dexterity of hands that were repeating a motion for the thousandth time. Michonne looked at the children still tucked under the duvet, she kissed them (she would not do so again) and went to the door.

Siobhan's hair was hidden beneath a dark shawl that swallowed her entire upper body. It made for a rather gloomy approximation of a nesting doll, all she needed where dead flowers in her hands and the image would be complete.

"Water's ready," she said taking the lamp from her as she entered the cabin.

Michonne grabbed her jacket and the clothes she'd prepared. "I won't be long."

She slipped her shoes on and left the house.

Night had a thickness that hadn't existed before. She remembered long drives to visit family friends on the other side of the state; she would press her nose to the window, 'daddy look, look, you can see the stars.' They were no longer a wonder to her. If anything, there was a grain of terror there she had to squash. She remembered lying on the asphalt, staring at those lights (now ever present without the hindrance of cities) and feeling like her heart had been replaced with a fistful of maggots.

She called for it now though, the void that once threatened to consume. Michonne looked at the sky and willed the darkness in. Sleep, if you could call it that, had left her wretched. Her thoughts had extended into dreams so that half the time she couldn't tell if she was asleep or merely laying down as thoughts tumbled between her ears in an insistent rhythm.

Now the moment had arrived there was calm.

She could think at last. This was just a court case, an assignment, a choreography she had memorised, a paper she had to write. There was no Michonne Deveraux, she was merely a vessel for the task at hand.

Siobhan left a fire in the ring of stones in the bathing shed. The heat licked her skin with each caress of cold. _Michonne Deveraux doesn't exist_. She scrubbed her skin and poured water over her head – a child with copper brown skin smiled between her eyelids. She shoved it away.

Nothing lived inside. Michonne imagined that all she was mingled with the water and trickled down her body, spreading like blood on the stone platform to soak into the earth, buried and gone. The mask fell into place.

XxXPITMXxX

Siobhan sat on the beanie bag going through the contents of a satchel she must have hidden beneath her shawl. She paused and gave Michonne a long steady look as she entered the cabin but whatever it was her face revealed she made no comment.

Michonne sat cross-legged on the floor, drying her hair with a bright cotton t-shirt, her shadow dancing on the wall beside her. She avoided the half-open door where the children slept.

Siobhan joined her, tucking her long legs beneath her butt. "You should see them before we start."

"I did."

There was a pause. Siobhan's hawkish gaze bore into her again, then she nodded. She opened the bag, took a white cloth, and carefully spilled the contents between them. There were silver trinkets, some round and others square. They would look like jewellery from afar, the type they sold in artisan shops she used to love. There were even faint patterns on the crinkled body (no doubt Abby's work).

"You managed it then?"

Siobhan raised an elegant brow. "It was never a question of whether or not I could."

She couldn't help smiling at her arrogance, it made things seem almost normal. As if it would be just another evening of the two of them talking shit in between discussions of the curriculum Siobhan was drafting, and news that Yekne or Julian had brought from their expeditions.

Siobhan took two round trinket and raised them to eye level.

"Nerium Tarraxa," she said, "also known as English Arrow. Take two and death will be immediate with no visible symptoms. Take one and it's a twenty-four hour wait. If symptoms do occur they'll be dilation of the pupils, dryness of the mouth and a heartbeat that becomes increasingly irregular until the victim loses consciousness, slipping in and out a few times, before death takes its hold."

Siobhan was expressionless. Her voice had the same clinical tone she used when, after explaining their limitations (having no electricity or hospital equipment), she had asked her whose life she should save if it came to it, hers or the baby's.

"Look at the patterns." Siobhan placed the trinkets close to Michonne and took another.

"Emeticus Balboa. This won't kill but the effects will be fast and rather unpleasant; stomach cramps, nausea and severe diarrhea. The color is slightly yellow so you'll need to be careful where you put it." Her lips curved in a half smile. "I'd have made it colorless, but you ran a tight deadline."

The patterns on this were vertical swirls where the first had been signs of infinity.

"Now this," she said, taking a square trinket, "is something of my own creation. It's a sleeping pill of sorts, with the addition of a few...interesting side effects. Blue lips, dilated pupils and fever. I don't know how useful it'll be but the idea is to look close enough to death that if they're kind, they'll remove you from your prison. The downside is you'll wake up disoriented and might experience some hallucinations, I don't know how severe." She chewed her bottom lip, a brief slip of her cool mask. "It's not tested, of course, so you'll be the Guinea Pig." She gave it to Michonne, there were dots scattered everywhere. "Don't use it unless you have to."

Siobhan's took the fifth and final trinket. "Mezerein Communatis," she said, "the most painful death I could find."

Michonne hadn't asked for that. There was a glint in Siobhan eyes that would have frightened her if it had been a normal day and half her heart wasn't numb. _Michonne Deveraux doesn't exist._

"Can you hold the mirror?" she asked.

Siobhan grabbed the round frame and held it in front of her. "Repeat it to me."

Michonne gathered her hair, fingers slowly working to find a style.

"Swirls for diarrhea, dots for sleep, infinity for death, and infinity with dot for painful death."

Siobhan was unamused. "I'll need full details."

Michonne had to memorise each poison, all symptoms and possible side effects then repeat it five more times.

Her hair was an intricate braid that twisted to a bun where the trinkets were carefully concealed. She tucked the last bobby pin in place and swung her head back and forth to check it was secure.

"How does it look?"

"You're smoking hot, quit fishing for compliments."

Michonne threw a sock at her and stood.

"There's only one thing left for it now," Siobhan said flopping on the beanie bag.

"What's that?"

"Well, it's far too late to get drunk so the only other option is a really, _really_ , good fuck."

Michonne looked around for last minute things to tidy. "Kind of late for that too, no?"

"I highly doubt it. Julian will be naked and spread-eagle on the bed as soon as you asked. You'll just have to—" Siobhan clicked her fingers, "and bam! Instant erection."

She laughed despite herself. Siobhan was the first person she found when she got separated from the others. She was hiding in a basement, planning on heading for Florida as soon as the herd cleared. When Michonne had insisted on going to Washington, Siobhan had looked at Judith, called her a moron and then announced she'd tag along. She was the one who held her hand when she found out she was pregnant and the one who had eventually made her see sense about ignoring said pregnancy. There were few people she trusted with her life and even fewer she trusted with her children's life; Siobhan fell in both categories.

"They're all out there waiting for you."

Michonne grimaced.

"You didn't surely think they would let you go quietly into the night, did you?"

"I was hoping," she admitted.

There was nothing left for them to do. They were prolonging her departure and it was becoming painfully obvious. Michonne grabbed her sword and pulled it from its sheath, twirling it left then right before setting it back in. She zipped her jacket and put the scabbard on her back. "Thanks for the heads up."

Siobhan stood and opened her arms. Michonne hugged her tight. "They're yours now."

Siobhan's kiss was soft against cheek. "I'd be offended if they weren't."

XxXPITMXxX

They were already waiting when she got there. Yekne and Clyde were securing supplies to the horses. The door to their headquarters was open and Morgan stood outside with John and Julian. She nearly faltered when she saw him. They hadn't spoken since their kiss and part of her had hoped they wouldn't have to. She didn't regret it exactly, but it also didn't escape her notice that so long as nothing further was discussed the pendulum wouldn't set. Death looming like a shadow was enough to excuse a myriad of sins, of decisions half made and choices remade. He was a good man; the kind she once convinced herself she didn't deserve – but he also loved her and that she wasn't sure she knew what to do with anymore.

That small fleck of the woman she was that had survived, somehow, beneath the rubble, (the one that prided herself in logicality and having her shit together no matter what) had felt vindicated when she saw him that first time in King County. _A least I'm not like that_ , she had thought when she looked at the garbled writings on the walls and his broken self barely able to function. _Even in my madness I'm still somewhat compact._ She now realised it was a lie. More compact, yes, but certainly not better. Morgan physically removed himself from the living; but once the corpses she kept were gone she had thrust herself into the world and the skin she wore was poison.

She would ruin him.

They had done this many times. The goodbyes and the hopping of returns, but their positions were often reversed. She was usually the one left behind and many of those times she knew he had done so for her sake, though she never asked.

Clyde gave her the reins of her horse.

"Hey girl." Michonne ruffled her mane and ran a hand over her dark coat.

 _They can sense your emotions, if you're steady they'll be too_. The words were said with such clarity they startled her. A solid warmth against her back and a hand trailing along her arm to meet her hand, fingers interlocking – a shiver ran up her spine. She had to stop herself from turning. He wasn't there.

Morgan was staring at her. Had she made a sound? Michonne gave a faint smile as he made his way to her. _I won't do this_ , she berated herself. This is what she decided in the classroom and she refused to look back.

"This probably isn't what you were hoping, right?"

She smiled wider, relieved. "Von warned me."

"Look at it this way, at least the rest of them are pretending to be asleep. It's just the council out here."

She looked around. There were no lights coming from any of the tents or cabins. "They probably are asleep," she said. "Apart from the nosy ones anyway."

Morgan gave a small laugh. "Who isn't nosy now a days? It's not why they're keeping vigil though. You made this place, they practically worship the ground you walk on."

She shifted. "It was all of us who made this."

"Because of you. We may have a council but you're our leader." His gaze bore into her. "Come back to us."

"I'll try," she said, trying to sound light hearted. "No promises though."

His kiss caught her off guard. She tried to force the Michonne that had been with her children yesterday to the surface. She hadn't wanted to touch them like this and she didn't want to kiss him in this skin she had worn under the starlight. When their lips parted her stomach sunk. _I will ruin him._ She cupped his cheeks and kissed him deeper, almost desperate, trying to undo the stain she'd left.

Noise from the house made them break apart. She cleared her throat, blood rushing to her cheeks as the others pretended not to notice them.

Ayda stood in the doorway with her grandmother. Maryam had a yellow blanket around her shoulders; in one hand she held a clay plate with daffodils set in a circle with a dollop of ghee in the middle, she made specifically for her home dishes – she said the world may have ended but she wouldn't be ruining her cooking now. She made them butter and bread and yoghurts and when Michonne suggested someone else could do the role she had waved a wooden spoon in dismissal and that had been the end of that. There standing in the dark; expression resolute, the lamp light setting the creases deeper in her face she seemed like a different being altogether. As if the stoop in her shoulders had vanished so she now towered over them all.

"Grandma wants to send us off," Ayda said rolling her eyes at Michonne.

A twinge of guilt bit at her. Ayda was the only relative Maryam had left, and here she was dragging her to possible death.

"Come and stand." Maryam waved at them, there was no arguing with that tone.

Morgan moved away as Clyde and Yekne came to stand on either side of her. They had all seen this before but there was something different this time. Perhaps it was the hour of night and the fact that around them the community slept, or maybe it was just the purpose of their journey and her own wishful thinking.

Maryam gave the clay plate and lamp to Julian and motioned Ayda to stand before her. She took the small container Ayda held and poured ashes on her hand. Ayda moved it in a circle above her head and threw it away from her. Despite the exasperated smile she had shot her way, there was a focus on her face that rang of more than mere appeasement as her voice rose and fell in a rhythm only her and her grandmother knew. The _Om_ of Maryam's voice reverberated around them, sounding impossibly loud in the silence of night.

 _Om krim Bagalamukhi sarv dushtanaam vaacham, mukham_

The council members stood by the door, watching silently. Their chants faded in the breeze and Maryam walked to the three of them and gave each one a pinch of salt to put in their pockets.

"You're protected now," Maryam said. "Goddess will stop the speech and feet of enemies. Your journey will go well."

"Come on nani," Ayda said in supplication, putting an arm around the old woman. "You can go to bed now, we'll be just fine out there."

Michonne looked away as Maryam took her grandaughter's cheeks between her hands and kissed her on the forehead.

XxXPITMXxX

"Claws can't catch Phantoms. Noose can't hold Phantoms. Here come the Phantoms h—"

"Can you shut up?" Ayda snapped.

Yekne smiled. "You don't like the song?"

"I don't want to die `cause a walker or Drifter heard your damn singing."

"We won't run into Drifters here," Yekne said, "we're too close to Waller territory."

"How about we don't bet our lives on that," Ayda said and led her horse away.

Clyde turned to Yekne with a smirk. "That's _one_ talent."

Yekne's bow was flamboyant. "It's my charm. One of these days she'll give me a chance," he said.

"Yes." Clyde patted him on the shoulder, then leaned in whispering, "And maybe there'll be flushing toilets at the end of the rainbow."

Michonne only half listened to their conversation. She had her binoculars in hand and was focused on the sign in the distance reading, 'Welcome to Alexandria _'._ This was the closest they had gotten to the Second Wall since that day two years ago. She remembered the gunfire and the panic as the fighting broke out. People hitting at whoever happened to be nearby not knowing if the person standing next to them was an enemy or just another innocent caught in the fray. Clyde had been with her that day.

As if reading her thoughts the tattooed man made his way to her. "We're finally here then."

"Looks like it." She handed him the binoculars and studied the profile of his face as he looked out at the community that would be their salvation or their doom.

"We sticking to the plan?"

She nodded then paused a short moment. "You don't have to go in there with me," she said. "You can stay out here."

"And miss all the fun?" Clyde asked. A typical response if ever there was one. She wondered not for the first time if bringing him had been the best idea. He looked completely at ease; as if they weren't going to hand themselves over to an enemy they didn't know. That itself wouldn't have rang alarm bells but the League...

Her family had seen her at her most savage, Clyde perhaps more than anyone. He was a man who knew how to kill and as a result stood beside her in most battles. Michonne had lost count of the bodies they had piled between them. She weighed every decision because the blood wouldn't just fall on her hands, she'd smear it on everyone else. She had no doubt that Clyde had been the greatest victim of that baptism and she wanted to give him a way out.

"You getting cold feet?"

She raised an eyebrow. "We might be going to our execution."

"Wouldn't be the first time." He smiled a cheshire grin and tossed the binoculars at her. She caught it by the strings. "Don't be going soft on me now Chonne. Where's the woman who promised to kill me if I ever betrayed her?"

Her lips turned in a half smile. "Still contemplating her promise and making lists of how she'd do it." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'll need you to play nice."

"Don't I always?"

She sighed. "We're not going there to war against the League."

"I know." He placed a hand on the saddle of his horse and swung himself over. "We hold hands and Kumbaya." He glanced at her folded arms and were he anyone else she was sure he would have rolled his eyes. "I'll follow your lead," he said. "But you should know; if there's a chance I'll take it."

She leaned forward, rubbed a slow palm on her mare's neck an felt the warmth there – the sign of life. She knew what she'd see if she looked at him. She had worn the same emotions once, and perhaps she still did.

"Frank Walton will have his due," she said, "but first we have to survive. Do you still trust me?"

She looked at him then. At the grey of his hair tied in a ponytail, the slightly pointy beard and the green eyes so full of fury.

"You don't get to ask that," he said.

She nodded and looked at the walled community waiting for them. "Then let's go for it," she said and kicked her horse forward.

She heard Clyde let out a laugh as he followed and Yekne yelling something about phantoms. There was something about riding – feeling the wind on her face and hearing the patter of hooves – that made her feel like anything was possible. As if all she had to do was keep going and eternity would stretch before her.

They stopped a few meters from the gates. Michonne jumped from her horse, gave the reins to Clyde and walked the rest of the way as he waited. There were people in the watchtower. Michonne waved her arm and hoped they didn't shoot.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you to everyone reading/ following this story, including my silent readers. You're all awesome and I appreciate each one of you. **thematsaidwelcome** , I'll never say or hint that I'll deliver a chapter by a certain time again lol. Shame. On. Me.

Just one more thing:

 _Om krim Bagalamukhi sarv dushtanaam vaacham, mukham padam stambhay. Jivham kilye, budhim vinashay krim om swaha,_ is a Hindu mantra spoken in Sanskrit (excuse any errors) and roughly translates to English as: _Gracious mother bagalamukhi_ (the Hindu goddess Maryam and Ayda are worshipping and asking help from in this chapter), _I take shelter in you. Let the speech/tongue, feet and organs of my enemies/ evil people be stilled and let their intellect be crippled so they cannot move further to harm me/us._

This mantra is real but I took a lot of liberties with the delivery/ ritualistic aspects of it to match the ZA setting of the characters. I hope no one takes offence.


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